


Start of Something Good

by tayles_28



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mortal AU, Solangelo AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 97,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayles_28/pseuds/tayles_28
Summary: Nico di Angelo is not supposed to be alive. He should have been killed in the car accident that claimed his sister's life, the car accident that was all his fault. When he wakes up in the psychiatric unit of Manhattan General Hospital only to discover his suicide attempt failed, he is anything but happy. Little does he know what life really has in store for him. With the help of his favourite nurse and the new resident, Dr. Will Solace, can Nico learn to become stronger than his demons and that there actually is a purpose to living?





	1. Nico: The End of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I genuinely thank you for taking the time out of your busy life to read this fanfic. I have been writing fan fiction for as long as I can remember, but have never had the courage to post any of it. I'm obsessed with Solangelo, so I decided to put my own spin on it and write something. AND POST IT. As much as I like true fanfics, I have a hard time with writing my own work that stems off nothing but the original. So, yes, while this is Solangelo, I have tweaked some things to make it different than in HoO and ToA. If that's not a style you like, don't feel obligated to read it. If it is, then please enjoy! Comments and feedback are always welcome.
> 
> WARNING: descriptions of suicide, depression, self harm and other mental illnesses. Also I swear a fair bit.

“So I wrote you a letter,  
You won’t find until I’m gone.  
For a song given to the devil,  
He’s come to take me home.”

Upon my admission, I am quick to learn it takes all kinds to make up a psych unit.

The unit is stationed toward the back of the hospital, tucked away in a corner just down the hall from the emergency department. When I first found this out, I laughed, because my pessimistic personality scoffed at the paradoxical idea of placing a group of mentally unstable isolators next to the busiest place in the entire hospital. My nurse at the time did not find it funny-she crossed her arms over her sagging chest, pursed her fuchsia lips, and proceeded to tell me the story of Michael Yew, a kid who smuggled a jump rope from the Recreational Therapy room during one of his morning sessions and committed suicide minutes before supper.

I guess it only takes one guy hanging from a shower rod to ruin it for everybody else.

I didn’t have the balls to ask her which room was his.

Compared to the open, often over-flowing emergency department, psych is small: a rectangular space that branches off into paths of coloured tile leading to patient rooms and two adjoining hallways, one that houses offices for our supervisor, Austin, and department manager, Kayla, and another that goes past the admitting desk, allowing us the option to come in or go out.

In my experience, the glory of options is cut off at come in.

I feel like the concept of going out is only acknowledged to keep us from seeming like prisoners to the outside world, when the reality is they’re the ones with the choice to leave. I asked Em about it once, and she started another story about a different guy who had gone outside for a cigarette unsupervised-whose brilliant idea was that?-and ended up having an sub psychotic episode. He took off down the street, muttering nonsense to himself under his breath; the hospital was put on a Code Yellow: Missing Persons alert for almost five hours until the police found him mid-jump off the downtown bridge.

Suicide is _not_ taken lightly in the psych unit.

Psych is organized into two patient categories physically separated into sections by the communal lounge area set up in the middle of the unit, a “safe” space that permits patients to leave the confinements of their rooms to sprawl out on the sofas and stare at the TV. The categories are called The Crazies and The Cutters. I’m quite certain there are proper medical terms for them, however none of the communicable patients use said terms; even the majority of the nurses often stick to the stereotypical titles. Doctors, too, provided they are comfortable and used to working the unit. Actually, the first time I heard them was from a doctor-Dr. Blofis, who is ironically one of my best friends’ stepfather-during one of my initial assessments, and my reaction was so abrupt Em had to restart my IV.

“Was he joking?” I asked her the minute the heavy wooden door to my room creaked shut behind him.

“No,” Em said plainly. “You will learn to excuse Dr. Blofis. Sometimes his professional filter gets misplaced.”

_No kidding_.

The Crazies face the west side of the unit. The ten patients occupying rooms make up a little less than half of the unit’s total population of twenty-two. “Crazy” is a broad term they use to describe a multitude of different mental instabilities, including things like dementia, schizophrenia, bipolar disorders, and addiction. One girl named Gwen has such intense OCD the nurses keep a detailed list of the way she does certain things both in her room as well as at the nurse’s desk. Psych’s oldest patient, whom everyone simply calls Mr. D, is a retired war veteran suffering from PTSD-the insomnia it causes him never grants him a good night’s rest; when it’s eerily quiet at night, I can sometimes hear his crooked gait pacing the length of his room.

The remaining twelve occupants are known as The Cutters, and they face the east. Not everyone on this side has issues with self-harm. These people fall under the illness of depression, which may or may not encompass the effects of self-harm, as some have gone even beyond that stage and reached suicidal. Most are within the range of hurting themselves-half, at least-but there are a few lucky ones dangling in depression’s grasp without something else pulling them farther. I experience shivers of shame when I consider these people lucky, before realization settles down in the pit of my stomach and reminds me of the ones pushing their breaking points because they haven’t got any farther to go.

People like me.

I reached my breaking point a month ago.

 

The earliest memory I have of my sister is her and my mother in the kitchen together. It was their favourite place to bond, baking endless batches of butter cookies and singing the old Italian lullabies our grandmother used to sing to Ma when she was little. I can still hear their sweet voices harmonizing melodies about counting sheep or having pleasant dreams, while smelling the savoury aroma of creamed butter and sugar. Most memories I keep of them involve them in the kitchen, Ma always swatting my hand away when I tried to reach my grimy kid fingers into the bowl of cookie dough; my sister smiling sweetly at me and sneaking me a spoonful when Ma turned her back or wasn’t looking. In the kitchen together, they were always singing, baking, laughing.

My sister, Bianca, was my superior by three years, and easily my favourite person in the world. I cannot remember a part of my life where she did not exist-she was always there for me when I needed her most, and even during the times I didn’t need her at all. She celebrated with me during times of joy, and cried with me during times of trouble. We were inseparable, her and I, held together by an unnaturally close sibling bond that seemed irrevocably unbreakable.

I wish myself able to forget the day the impossible became possible.

The day our bond was not only broken, but shattered, torn to the point of no return.

It was just days past my twentieth birthday. Ma had phoned in the late afternoon to inform us she would be working late and we were to provide ourselves with the likes of supper. We were not to wait for her-she was unsure of her time to arrive home, and she refused even the idea of us starving. When I relayed the message to Bianca, her coffee-coloured eyes rolled and she shook her head.

“We wouldn’t starve if we waited for her,” she said. “I’ll never understand what makes her think that way.”

I shrugged. “Maybe she was poor growing up.” Ma never told us stories about her childhood in Venice, except if there was a brief one tagging along with a new lullaby. My suggestion was nothing more than a guess. “Maybe she knows what it’s like to go hungry.”

Bianca pursed her lips. “I wish you weren’t such a pessimist, Nico. It’s such a downer sometimes.”

“I may be a pessimist,” I argued, “But I am also a realist. Besides, you know I was just throwing out a guess.”

Her response was a flick of her wrist. “Whatever, I’ll make sure I leave a full plate ready for her if she doesn’t come home before I go to bed. What would you like to have?”

I shrugged again. I hated it when she asked me that question, and she knew it. My relationship with food was shaky to say the least; I could go days without a proper meal and feel no source of hunger throughout my body. This infuriated both Bianca and Ma, because a true Italian boy should love and cherish food as he would a beautiful woman. I can’t explain why I’m this way, but even a normal person is unable to find complete reasons for the way they are, so I see no point in investing the time and effort to come up with one.

“I don’t care what we have,” I told her honestly. “Make whatever you want.” The temptation to add a statement of “I’m not hungry, anyway” sat on my tongue like a horrible aftertaste. Those words would instantly cause an argument, and I felt no intention to fight with her.

“I think we have some fresh linguine in the fridge.” Bianca tapped her index finger on her chin. “I’ll make Ma’s Bolognese sauce and we can have spaghetti.”

My stomach grumbled. During the times food became appealing to me, spaghetti was my favourite.

“Sure,” I agreed. “That sounds good.” I left her skipping for the kitchen; I turned on my heel and headed toward my bedroom to drown myself in my sketchbook and the new Black Veil Brides album.

Bianca was the one who introduced me to the comfort of drawing. She gave me my first sketchbook and pencil set for Christmas when I was ten. I started out small, finding things around the house that intrigued me, like Ma’s collection of patterned vases or the bouquets of flowers Bianca liked to pick from the market downtown to put in her room. I soon got bored, running out of interesting things to draw, and then began my obsession with portraits. Again, my start was basic: I mostly focused on the neighbour’s orange tabby cat that took its afternoon naps in the sun on our back porch. Then, one day Ma suggested I try something with a challenge to it. She suggested I draw people.

It took a while for me to warm up to the idea, but finally I caved, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. So I asked Bianca if she was willing to submit herself as my guinea pig. She squealed yes before I finished my question.

I spent the next week studying my sister’s face from every angle, trying to cram every detail about her I could think of into my eleven-year-old brain. Her dark chocolate hair, highlighted by streaks of creamy caramel, her smooth olive skin, her eyes the colour of freshly ground espresso, her gentle smile, the small mole near the left corner of her mouth. Her image formed from strokes of my pencil, capturing her perfectly on a once blank canvas. A once blank canvas now holding a portrait of the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

Bianca took a week to study, and another week to draw; by the time two weeks had passed, she was practically hanging off the walls with excitement. I made her close her eyes before I revealed to her my finished piece.

When she opened her eyes, her mouth fell open in a perfect O shape. Tears glossed over her eyes.

“Nico,” she breathed. “It’s so beautiful! You are so talented!” She gripped my hands; a tear fell from her eye and traced her cheek. “You have to promise me you’ll never stop drawing.”

I could feel a red-hot blush burning my whole face. “Okay, I promise.”

I will never, ever break that promise.

My head was bent over my latest work featuring Ma and Bianca together in the kitchen when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I removed one of my headphones, turning to scowl at whoever thought it was necessary to interrupt my song; Bianca stood next to me, peering over my shoulder.

“Yeah?” I asked her, unable to control the snarl in my tone.

“I’m out of some herbs I need for the sauce,” she said, slightly distracted as she kept her gaze on my sketchbook. “We need to go the market.”

“We? Why we? You’re more than capable of driving.”

“Ma took the car,” Bianca told me. “We have to take the truck, and I can’t drive stick.”

I groaned. “You said learning how to drive that was going to be your summer project. It’s January!”

“Come on, Nico, please. Just take me to the market, and I promise I won’t bother you for the rest of the evening.”

Her bargain was tempting, very tempting. I usually enjoyed the time I got to spend with my sister, provided she acted as my sister, and not my mother. I started noticing her change of behaviour more often lately, especially on the nights Ma worked late-she found it her duty to act like the head of the house, bossing me around and telling me what to do. It was behaviour I expected of her when I was eight, not twenty.

“Fine,” I grumbled, giving in to her compromise. “But that means I pick the radio station.”

The market was about a ten-minute drive straight into downtown, set up in the heart of the main square every day from three in the afternoon until eight at night. It featured booths of all sorts of homegrown products, things like fresh fruits and vegetables, organic meats, and homemade pies. Ma sometimes brought home chocolate cherry pie as a treat if she got off work early or had something she thought was worth celebrating. Out of all the food in the world, I never said no to chocolate cherry pie.

Bianca kept her promise about the quick trip, heading straight for the booth selling herbs she needed. We were in and out in a matter of minutes, weaving around the crowds of people shopping. I made a mental note to keep a special eye on traffic as we headed home-this time of day brought a herd of people coming home from work, and the roads were often a congestion of nightmarish drivers.

We were maybe five minutes from home. I shifted the truck to bring it to a slow stop at a changing light from yellow to red, humming the chorus of the Fall Out Boy song thumping through the speakers. Bianca was sitting in the passenger seat, cradling the bundle of fragrant herbs in her lap.

I have a hard time remembering much of what happened subsequent to the light turning green. I put the truck in gear; we somewhat lurched forward into the intersection. The sound of wind whooshed in my ears. The lights in my eyes were blinding. There was a horrible crunch of metal on metal.

And then everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again, I was blinded by a new kind of white light, the kind that came with an annoying buzz and almost instantly gave me a pulsing headache. The air smelled like sickness and antiseptic. Every inch of my body throbbed. There was a rhythmic beep to my left, and I could feel something hard and cool along my cheekbones. I shifted my weight to put a hand to my face; somebody moved next to my bed.

“You’re awake.”

I didn’t recognize the feminine voice. I managed to crane my neck enough to put my company in view without wincing in pain, blinking numerous times to rid their blurriness.

The woman standing beside my bed wore purple scrubs, her white-blonde hair pulled away from her face in a high ponytail. Her slightly chapped lips curled up in a convincing smile; I could see nothing but sadness hiding behind her dark blue eyes. A laminated nametag was pinned to the front pocket of her scrub top: CLARISSE.

“Do you remember what happened, Nico?”

Headlights flashed before my eyes. The sound of the crash echoed horribly in my ears.

“The truck…” I stammered, my throat raw as sandpaper. “The truck…I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Clarisse soothed, resting her ice-cold hand on my shoulder. “You’re okay. You are in Manhattan General Hospital.”

Hospital.

An intense wave of panic doused me from head to toe. I began twisting in my sheets, too numb to feel the pull of the IVs in both of my hands or hear the exaggerated beeping of whatever machine I was hooked up to. Clarisse blurred from my vision and I could only focus on one thing.

“Bianca,” I gasped. “Where is she? Where is my sister? I need to see my sister!”

The sadness in Clarisse’s eyes deepened. She opened her mouth to answer me, her reply drowned out by frightened cries.

“He is my son! My son! Do you hear me?! You cannot keep me from him! I must go in!”

“Ma!” I cried at the recognition of her voice. “Ma, I’m here!”

The door to enter my room banged open; Ma flew in at top speed, her long, dark hair a whirlwind around her tearstained face. She bolted like lightning to my bedside, elbowing Clarisse out of the way and throwing herself into the mattress. I didn’t dare cry out from the pain her collapse caused, because she buried her face in my thigh and started sobbing.

“Oh, Nico, thank goodness, you’re alive…Thank goodness, you’re alive…My son, my baby…”

My level of panic skyrocketed. I pushed my fingers through Ma’s hair, using all my willpower to avoid looking over my shoulder at Clarisse.

“Ma…” I whispered, unsure if my lips would even allow my question to escape them. “Bianca…?”

Ma lifted her eyes to meet mine, every ounce of hope I carried blown to bits by one tear-filled gaze. She bit her lip and shook her head.

The entire world came out from underneath me.

Bianca was dead.

 

I skipped a bunch of steps during my grieving period, or rather, I experienced all of the steps in an agonizing order.

The first stage is denial, which I suppose I did go through first, but I never stopped going through it. There is always a hopeful thought buried in the very back of my brain that told me Bianca was going to come back. She wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be dead.

The second stage is anger. I carry plenty of anger around regarding her death, but it seems unfair to place the anger at her. It wasn’t her fault she was gone. It was mine.

Wasn’t it?

I had been the one driving the truck.

I spent the majority of my grieving period bouncing back and forth between anger and the third stage: bargaining. I prefer to call bargaining the “what if” stage, or the “guilt” stage. My anger rises from within me, coming in bouts of uncontrollable, roaring rage that sets my lungs on fire and turns my bones to ice. Anger that is properly directed at myself, because I had been driving, and if I had just been paying a little more attention like I told myself to, she would still be here. Once the anger subsides, guilt is quick to follow, nipping my heels and converting my body to such a deep numbness I can’t feel anything at all. Together they form the perfect pair to be grasped by the depression of stage four. It is their combination that I use as the reason why I started cutting.

When the thought first came into my head, I flatly refused it, denied it entrance to my thoughts. People already considered me an emo kid, with my almost-black hair that curled to just below my ears, pale skin, hooded eyes, and entirely black wardrobe. Bianca would tease me about it all the time, even commenting my taste in music complimented the offensive stereotype. I was not going to give into that.

But, then came that Saturday where Ma was called into work, and she left me alone to roam around the house listening to the most depressing metal music I had on my iPod, missing my sister terribly and feeling guiltier with every second ticking on the clock.

_Just do it. It will make you feel better._

I didn’t understand how. I couldn’t feel anything.

_It will make you feel better._

The sudden urge to give in was overwhelming. I found my feet carrying me weightless to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it shut behind me. My fingers fumbled in the medicine cabinet where I kept my razor, struggling to keep it grasped in my hand as I twisted on the faucet.

The trickle of running water masked my grunt of pain. I sliced the razor across the inside of my wrist, about an inch below the middle of my forearm. I was too chicken to go any lower.

At first I was met with a continuum of nothing. I watched as the blood dripped down my hand and off my fingers into the water-filled sink, a disappointed snarl curling my upper lip. After about five gruesome seconds, the numbness vanished, replaced by a euphoric rush comparable to a narcotic high. A rush stripping me of every horrible feeling I’d gone through since Bianca’s death.

I felt…good.

Now I understand what people mean when they say: “once you start, you can’t stop”.

I have cut myself about fifty times since then.

Cutting introduced me to a new sort of a pain, a pain different from the one I had become so horribly used to. But this pain, I discovered, had the power to not only heal, but also worsen. Worsen to something I didn’t think was humanly possible.

I refused to leave my bed. I slept twenty hours a day. I quit eating. I stopped listening to music. I found new places to drag the razor across my skin. I didn’t see a point in living.

So, I decided not to anymore.

My memory of that night is far too vivid for my liking. I can hear the rain pattering musically on the roof, feel the cold tile floor on my bare feet, see the bright red blood gushing from my wrists.

I saved the most dangerous spot for last.

I remember my robotic movements with my razor. I remember curling up in a ball on the bathroom floor. I remember closing my eyes and waiting. I remember the haze of glowing white light.

I remember the sound of the front door opening, the sound of two people calling my name. The sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs. The sound of the closed bathroom door opening and banging against the wall.

Jason phoned the ambulance while Piper wrapped my wrists in ripped pieces of her t-shirt. She was crying, begging me to stay with her, telling me how sorry she was and how much she loved me. The glowing white light only got brighter.

 

The night I was supposed to die came and went last month without success. I continue to live, much to my dislike, chained to the confinements of my room in the psych unit. So far, I have come across only one reason to enforce effort into complying with my treatment plan, and that reason is Em.

Let me explain Em.

My first three days in the hospital, I am completely mute. I have no desire to engage in conversations with my nurses or the psych doctor, or answer the array of stupid questions they repeatedly ask me-I want to die. I was supposed to die. Do they really expect me to crack open like a book and spill out the contents of pages I call my life story? Yeah, right. No fucking way.

On my fourth morning, it is the sound of rustling papers and a beeping machine that interrupts what little sleep I manage to get. I open my eyes to find a young woman next to my bed, her eyebrows furrowed at the machine connecting me to the swarm of IVs in my hands and frowning down at the pieces of chart paper clenched between her fingers. She is wearing a set of pure black scrubs, her long auburn hair full of thick curls pulled into a ponytail. I clear my throat awkwardly; she looks at me with such intense green eyes, I don’t think they’re natural.

“Good morning, Nico,” she says sweetly, smiling. “My name is Emerlee. You can call me Em. I’m going to be looking after you today, okay?”

I say something really intelligent, like, “uhh”, my mouth suddenly drier than a desert. I grip a chunk of thin sheet, twisting the fabric around my fingers.

“The nurses have made numerous comments the last few days about how you are not very chatty,” Emerlee-Em-muses, her emerald eyes grazing over her papers. “Do you think maybe we could change that?”

“I can talk just fine,” I snap, an odd feeling pooling in my gut. A feeling that tells me there is something different about this girl. This girl could understand. I can trust her, enough to allow her to read pages of my life story. “I don’t like when they ask me stupid questions that they already have the answers to, or when they give me this look of pity like I’m nothing but a hopeless case. Just because _I_ know I’m a hopeless case doesn’t mean _they_ need to know it.”

Em’s eyes burn with such seriousness, I uncontrollably flinch. “Everyone is here to support you, Nico,” she says. “You are not a hopeless case.”

“I am, too! Every patient trapped in here is a hopeless case! We’re so different from normal patients. We’re all mental! Our disease doesn’t come from a foreign virus or mutated cell, it comes from our own source of corruption! And these professionals who think they know everything about everyone have the audacity to comment on the fact that I haven’t cracked open and spilled out every detail about the mess I call my life? Bullshit! They don’t have a clue of the things I’ve been through!” I can feel anger ripping through my veins, my heart pounding so viciously it seems to be coming out of my chest through my ribcage. I clench my fingers, desperate for the sweet release of cutting. “I’m just so mad, it makes me sick.”

Em does not move. The information retrieved from my chart hangs limply at her side, barely contained in the weak grasp of her fingers. Her eyes dart to the empty space next to me on my bed.

“Nico,” she says softly. “Would it be alright if I sat down?”

The anger is becoming numbness. “Are you going to ask me stupid questions if I let you sit down?” I ask.

“Is questioning the reason behind your sudden onset of rage considered stupid in your mind?”

My lips start to tingle. I shake my head; the mattress squeaks as Em lowers herself next to me.

“Why are you so angry, Nico?”

I’m not sure I am physically capable of forming proper words, not in English, anyway. I was raised in Venice-Ma moved me and Bianca to America just after I turned ten-my mother tongue is Italian; when I get flustered, I struggle with the commonality of English, the gears in my brain working in overdrive, therefore forcing my ability to speak to become impaired. I manage to take three deep breaths.

“I’m not supposed to be here, Em,” I say. “My attempt of suicide came with a reason. I didn’t try it for shits and giggles.”

“Why do you think that? You were granted such a precious life. Why would you want to give it all away?”

The same peculiar feeling burns in my chest. Em isn’t asking me these questions for the simple reasons of doing her job and scrounging a tale out of me so she can document it on my chart and share it with the rest of the staff. No. Em is asking me these questions because she truly cares about my responses. She cares about my life, about me not just as a patient, but as a human being.

I inhale a few more times before I launch into the story of my life, more so the reason behind my insistent decision to end it. I leave out no details in regards to that aspect, unveiling everything from the specific herbs Bianca had needed for the marinara sauce (oregano, basil, parsley) to the particular favourite song I reserve for the worst of my depression days (“Dear Agony”, Breaking Benjamin). Em says nothing the whole time I talk; she sits on her hands and even ignores the chart papers in her lap. The expression on her face is unreadable, a possible mix of sadness and remembrance and empathy.

When I draw in my finishing breath, Em reaches forward to put her hand over top of mine. Her fingers feel like ice; I gasp and wrench my hand away. I _hate_ being touched.

“I understand, Nico,” Em says softly. “You don’t have to believe me if you choose not to. But I promise you, I do. I understand how you are feeling.”

The rolling of my eyes is nothing less than automatic, because every new nurse I have throughout the day tells me the exact same thing, and I know it’s all bullshit. “How do you know?” I snap. “How could you possibly understand? What makes you different than any other nurse in here?”

Em sucks in air sharply through her nose. “Because I’ve been where you are.”

I blink, completely convinced I misheard her. She’s been where I am?

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Like, you mean you’ve…”

_No. That can’t be right._

“I have,” Em says, shifting her weight to release her hands. “I was a patient in this psych unit, too.”

The tightness in my chest feels like a bomb has gone off beneath my sternum. My heart is racing; out of the corner of my eye, I can see the number indicating my pulse rapidly increase: 62, 78, 90, 102.

_She understands._

“Which side were you on?”

Em sighs. “Cutters. I also tried to commit suicide.”

Holy shit.

My eyes train to the insides of her wrists and forearms. I see no scars similar to my own, instead met with the visual artistry of tattoos.

She has one on each arm, the one on the left much more detailed than the one on the right. The right one is simple, an array of strange symbols I can recognize as letters from the Greek alphabet.

The left one is a bird. A musical bird. Its head begins just below her elbow, its eye a sideways single note, with a treble clef for a main body, surrounded by an assortment of music notes and wisps of detail to look like feathers that continue down to her wrist to form a tail. Repeat bar symbols are used for feet. Its wingspan starts to wrap around the top of her arm, composed of staff lines showing an arrangement of notes I’m sure come from a specific piece. At the bottom edge of the wing, I can just make out carefully handwritten script.

Aidan Anthony Sharpe.

“Greek?” I ask her, referring to the right tattoo.

She nods. “Strength.”

“And the bird?”

An immediate sadness seeps into the features of her face; a wave of guilt washes over me, so powerful I struggle to keep from vomiting. “Em, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Em shakes her head. “The bird is a memorial tattoo for my brother.”

“Aidan?” I guess, remembering the scripted name.

“Yes. He passed away a little over two years ago.”

Shit. She really understands what I’m going through.

“I’m sorry.”

Em’s shoulders raise up to her ears and she shuts her eyes. “It’s okay,” she says in a very quiet voice. “He had a brain tumor. It was so progressed; they couldn’t do anything to help him. He was basically a ticking time bomb. By the end, it had spread to his spine and his liver; they put him in a medically-induced coma as a last resort to relieve him of the pain. I tell myself every day that he is in a much better place now.” She sighs heavily. “The wings contain the first few lines of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, his favourite classical piece.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again, and I mean it. “How old was he?”

“Twenty-two.”

“My sister was twenty-three,” I say, not remembering if I already told her. “We were inseparable.”

Em nods. “So were Aidan and I. It took longer than I expected, but the realization of his death hit me like a freight train. I spiraled into such a deep, dark depression that it completely changed me as a person. I couldn’t even recognize myself. The fact that he was gone overtook me, convincing me there was no possible way to live without him.”

“I know that feeling,” I mumble.

Em’s smile is only half, the left corner of her mouth upturned in the slightest. “My arm looked very similar to yours. I picked the spot for my tattoo not just for the reason that it would be visible nearly all the time, but also because it covered the scars. I hated those scars. They were nothing but painful memories.”

I look down at my own scars and wince. Em’s smile disappears.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s my job as a psych nurse to take notice in those sorts of things.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Everybody notices them. It’s not as if they’re subtle, or anything.”

“The subtlety of your condition is irrelevant, Nico,” Em states, lifting herself off my bed to scribble something down on my chart in the bright red pen she pulled from her front pocket. “I’m giving you the freedom to believe whatever you want, but unlike some people I work with, my intentions here really are to help you. I speak from experience when I say I understand how you’re feeling, not empathy.” Her pen flourishes swiftly across the paper again.

“Also, I would consider yourself lucky. I tell very few people my own life story. There has to be something special about them for me to open up.”

Heat rushes through my cheeks. “Thank you?” I raise my eyebrow, unsure if the meaning behind her statement holds some sort of positivity.

“You’re welcome,” she beams. “I have to go run this paper over to Dr. Blofis, then I will be back to do what I actually came here to do in the first place: your morning assessment.” She smiles brightly again and leaves the room, her ponytail bouncing down her back.

I guess it does mean something positive.

That’s how I take it, anyway.

 

I have been in the hospital for nearly three weeks now. My daily routine is somewhat of a rut now, a seemingly endless groove of waking up, having my morning assessment, eating breakfast, going to one-on-one therapy with Dr. Blofis, then recreational therapy (which is basically exercise class-I put my headphones in and run supervised miles on a treadmill), eating lunch, suffering through group therapy sessions (which I skip to salvage a nap more often than I physically attend, unless Em asks nicely because she’s having a shitty day and she wants me to do something to make her happy), put up with my friends during visiting hours, eat supper, and then finally roam around my room because I can’t bring myself to sleep at night.

That cycle continues day after day, and will continue until Dr. Blofis decides I’m mentally able enough to leave.

Those are his exact words.

To be honest, I’m finding the repetitiveness comforting. I hate this place, I really do, but the reassurance that I’m going to wake up to the same thing every day eases the instability of my mind. I don’t have to worry about finding new things to keep myself occupied so I can avoid the depths of my mind and stay away from the depressive abyss living within it.

Em has been another huge part in maintaining my sanity. She’s the only person I’ve allowed myself to completely open up to since losing Bianca, and only the second person who I can comfortably say knows everything about me underneath Jason Grace. I refuse to speak in group therapy unless she’s the supervising nurse. She breaks the rules and lets me keep my iPod in my room, provided I do my job to keep it hidden from everyone who isn’t her. She sits with me during lunch if her break coincides with my schedule; she’s even snuck food into my room and eaten in there for the privilege of each other’s company. I guess you could say she reminds me a little of Bianca. Okay, more like a lot.

As much as I love having her around, she works way too much for such a young person, in my opinion. She’s the youngest of the psych nurse brigade, barely twenty-two (another reason I like her, she’s closer to my age and has a more thorough understanding of the way my mind works) and to me it seems she’s always here. Obviously that’s not true-she’s informed me several times of her ten-day on, four-day off schedule, but I know she picks up extra shifts whenever one opens up. Her ten-days on alternates her between day shifts and night shifts, days being from seven in the morning until seven at night, nights the opposite. The twelve-hour work periods are long enough as it is, but she always stays late, whether it’s to finish up a pile of paperwork or because there’s some kind of emergency or because she knows how much smoother my morning assessments go if she’s the one who does them (that’s usually her nights excuse). I’ve had to force her to go home three times.

She’s also the only nurse who knows how to handle the crazy clan of humans I decide to call my friends.

That’s a huge bonus.

Psych permits visitors every day from three in the afternoon until nine at night. Every day I have at least one.

Jason is easily the regular. He has come to visit me every day since the night he and Piper found me on the bathroom floor, even the day right after, when I was drugged and unconsciously comatose. Em told me he came back a few hours after he was booted from the emergency room, looking sleepless and heartbroken, and all he wanted was to sit beside my bed and hold my hand. When she came into the room to give him updated news on how I was doing, he broke down and cried into her shoulder.

I haven’t told him I know about that. And neither has she.

Jason and I have been friends since I was fourteen. We met at the outdoor summer camp Ma enrolled me and Bianca in every year; he was a newbie, one of the cabin head councillors. I would be lying through my teeth if I tried to say our friendship falls into one of those “instant best friends” things. It wasn’t. I kind of hated him the first time I met him.

Jason is Jason. I say that with as much simplicity and respect I can muster. Jason is the Golden Boy. His hair is the color of a fresh wheat crop, his eyes glacier blue. He’s tall, taller than me, anyway, and much more muscled. There is a tiny scar on his upper lip from the time he thought it would be smart to eat a stapler-he was two. His glasses are always somewhat dirty and never sit straight on the bridge of his nose. He knows how to solve problems based solely on the likes of his logic, he never gets flustered and keeps himself level-headed even in the toughest of crises. He’s nothing if not loyal-that boy is there for me no matter what, whether I actually need him or not. He’s there for our entire group, the one we all turn to for practical advice or a friendly ear.

It took me a long time to get comfortable with the permanence of his perfectness. And his overprotectiveness.

That would be the fault of Jason’s I point out if somebody asks. We are all grateful for his loyalty to our friendship-me especially-but when you become Jason’s friend, you subject yourself to his worrying and his impulsive mothering. When he found out about my sister, he insisted on visiting me every day, and phoning me both in the morning when I got up and at night when I went to bed. “Just checking in,” he’d say casually. I made the mistake of ignoring him one morning, resulting in five frantic voicemails and twelve urgent, all caps-lock text messages. I kept reassuring him I was fine, that he didn’t need to constantly phone me or worry about me, but he didn’t believe me.

I both love and hate him for being able to see through my mask of bullshit.

I actually met all of my friends at this camp: Jason, his girlfriend Piper McLean, Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Leo Valdez, my half-sister Hazel Levesque and her boyfriend, Frank Zhang. They were always together the whole summer, the seven of them laughing during meal times or hanging out by the lake during break. I would watch them from afar, inwardly knowing I was never going to fit in with them. After all, I was just that weird kid.

I guess I still am that weird kid, compared to the rest of them, anyway. I owe lifetime thanks to Hazel for convincing her friends that I’m actually not as creepy as I seem, because all “goth” kids fall under the stereotype of creepy. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy task, but Hazel is so sweet and kind, it’s hard to not believe anything she says. I will forever hold a grudge against my father for keeping her a secret from me for fifteen years-he remarried shortly after he and Ma split up, and granted me Hazel for a half-sister, however refused to allow us to meet, because he figured it would just make everyone uncomfortable. Really, I think he is a chicken shit, and the only person who would have suffered from any sort of awkwardness is him. Hazel may not be Bianca, but she certainly is a blessing.

It’s shortly after three PM; I’m back lying in bed after a shower strips me of the thin layer of sweat result from my therapeutic run, flicking through a playlist on my iPod when I hear the knock at my door.

“Nico?” Em asks, “Are you listening to your iPod?”

“Yes. Do I need to hide it?”

“No.” She comes into view from around the corner, a soft smile on her lips. “But, your friends are here.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Which friends?”

“Your favourite ones, of course!” Percy’s voice rings out.

I roll my eyes, earning a giggle from Em. “Do you want me to kick them out?”

“You can’t kick us out!” That comes from Jason. “We already know he’s awake!”

She looks at me expectantly.

“It’s alright,” I tell her. “They can come in.”

The four of them form a semi-circle around the end of my bed: Percy on my right, Annabeth, Piper, and Jason to my left. Percy and Piper are smiling, Jason’s expression is what we like to call his “Mommy Jason” look-a smile with worry behind his eyes-and Annabeth is smirking. Em stands off to the side, leaning on the wall parallel to my bed.

“How’re you doing today, buddy?” Jason asks, nervously fiddling with his hands.

“I’m fine, Jason,” I tell him. “Do you really insist on asking me that every time you come visit? Every day? Even when you know I’m going to give you the exact same answer?”

“Of course.” Jason’s face sets seriously. “I care about how you’re doing in…this place.”

I don’t think the words “hospital”, “psychiatry”, or “mental unit” will ever come out of Jason’s mouth.

“Yeah, Neeks,” Percy says, flashing me a megawatt smile, “You’re trapped in the loony bin. We need to make sure they’re not robbing you of all your sanity.”

Annabeth whacks him upside the head. He yelps. “Well, it’s true!”

Em is biting back chuckles; a blush burns my face.

“I’m fine,” I mutter again. “And don’t call me Neeks.”

“Death Boy, then? I personally think that’s more fitting.”

Annabeth glares at him. “Percy!”

An incredulous look clouds his sea green eyes. “What?”

“Oh my gods, you are impossible.”

“You love me.” He kisses her cheek.

“You are impossible.”

I roll my eyes as they start to bicker like an old married couple. Em pushes herself away from the wall.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t kick them out, Nico?” she asks me, a hint of tease muddled in the seriousness of her voice.

“It’s fine,” I assure her, dismissively flicking my wrist. “They’ll stop. We’re used to this, right, Jason?”

“Oh, of course,” Jason agrees. “We wouldn’t know they loved each other if they didn’t bicker.” Something flashes behind the blue in his irises. “But, Nico, I’m sorry, he was joking about Death Boy. That’s not funny and we know it, I promise.”

A wave of regret washes over my entire body. My vision blurs. I can feel the coolness of tile beneath my cheek, see Piper’s tear-soaked face looming over me, hear the panic in Jason’s voice as he’s yelling into the phone…

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Nico? Are you okay? Em, what’s going on?”

Someone’s hand is wrapping around my bleeding wrist.

“It’s okay, Nico, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Em!”

“It’s okay, Nico. Nico, it’s Em. You’re okay. Open your eyes. You’ll see. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

My eyes fly open, surrounding my vision in a haze of white. The memory of that night fades from my mind, leaving me to realize where I am and seeing five concerned faces staring at me.

“What happened?”

“It’s okay, Nico,” Em says gently, resting her hand on my shoulder. She suddenly looks drained, exhausted. “It was just a memory. You’re okay. You’re safe here.”

Whatever monitor I set off stops its obnoxious beeping. “I’m okay,” I repeat slowly, her words and the faces of my surrounding friends settling my unstable mind.

“You’re okay,” she assures me again.

“I’m sorry.”

Em shakes her head feverishly. “Don’t be sorry. It is my job to be here for you.”

I lean back into my pillows, feeling like someone injected a sleeping drug into my veins. “You work too hard,” I murmur.

She laughs. “Things are busy around here. There is no time to slack off. Dr. Blofis is running around like crazy trying to get everything organized for the resident who’s starting tomorrow. Plus, he’s having a baby. That’s a lot of stress, which means extra work for us.”

“It’s true,” Percy jumps in. “Paul’s busy even at home, between organizing papers and making phone calls and helping my mom with baby stuff.” He wrinkles his nose. “I still can’t believe my mom is pregnant.”

“Oh, Percy,” Annabeth sighs. “We’ve been over this. Your mom is having a baby. You’re going to have a little sister, you should be excited!”

“I am!” he insists. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be weird.”

Annabeth shakes her head, smiling. “Are you looking forward to having a resident, Em?”

Em pushes a couple buttons on my IV, shrugging. “Sure,” she says, tapping her finger on her chin. “He’s a student from NYU School of Medicine. Dr. Blofis has been glomming over him the last couple weeks, I guess he’s a genius. I don’t even know his name. We all just call him Whizkid.”

“Dr. Whizkid.” The name rolls off Jason’s tongue, followed by a humorous little smirk. “Awesome. I wonder if he’s cute.”

Percy’s eyes widen. “Gods, I hope so!” His excited gaze rests on me. “Nico, we could totally set you up!”

I inwardly groan, kicking my stupid self for providing Percy with the personal information of my sexuality, and for admitting to him that he had been my first real crush. Ever since I told him I once found him attractive, but that he wasn’t my type, he’s been attempting, determined, to find me someone.

That was five years ago. He’s terrible at playing matchmaker.

Em’s smile lights up her whole face, for a minute ridding her eyes of their heavy-lidded tiredness. “As much as I am all for finding Nico a boyfriend, doctor-patient relationships are a big no-no.” She glances regretfully at me, then at Jason. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“Dude.” Percy stares at me. “She knows?”

I press the heel of my hand against my forehead. “Dude,” I mimic him, “Of course she knows. She knows everything about me.”

“Everything?”

I nod.

Percy’s mouth falls open, revealing three small fillings in his back molars. His eyes train to Em, darkened by shock. “How did you do that?”

Em lifts her shoulders helplessly. “Dunno,” she says, smirking playfully. The pager plastered to her hip goes off with a loud buzz; she checks it and shoots me a sympathetic look. “I’m needed at the nurse’s desk. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” Her departure is halted before she’s rounding the corner. “Oh, and Percy?”

“Yes?” he calls back to her.

“You’re not my type, either.”

Percy’s jaw instantly goes slack. The rest of us, me included, burst out in raucous laughter.

“That was priceless!” Jason exclaims, wiping tears from his eyes. “I can see why you like her, Nico. Keep her around.”

Percy is complaining to Annabeth, questioning how there could even be a possibility that he wouldn’t be somebody’s type- he’s everybody’s type! I shift my eyes over my friends doubled over in fits of giggles, a warmth spreading through my body. I really do love them, all of them. They have made the routine of my life here easier, better.

Little do I know the comfort of my routine is about to change.

Starting tomorrow.


	2. Will: Welcome to the Black Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's first day as a resident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm usually pretty bad at summaries, but I'll try my best. All of the chapters are titled after a song and start with a small expert from said song. Feel free to check them out!

“He said son when,  
You grow up, will you be,  
The saviour of the broken,  
The beaten and the damned?”

The first person I see when I walk into the psychiatric unit of Manhattan General Hospital is a young girl standing behind the nurse’s desk. Her auburn hair is combed back in a ponytail, several stray hairs wisped around her face, framing it. A red pen is tucked behind her ear. Her purple scrub top is slightly wrinkled, as if she had been in a rush this morning, or had already plowed through a long night of work. She looks around my age, maybe a little older.

Nerves bundle in my stomach as I approach the desk. She may not be Dr. Blofis, but this is my first day, and first impressions are something beyond the definition of important in my mind. This residence is beyond important.

The girl looks up from her paperwork before I reach the edge of the desk, her emerald green eyes meeting my bright blue ones. She wraps a curl around her ear and smiles.

“Hello! What can I do for you?”

Any sort of confidence I have disappears as the air gets sucked from my lungs. The nerve knot in my stomach tightens violently.

_Calm down, Will,_ I scold myself. _She’s going to think you’re an idiot if you can’t speak properly. Just ask for Dr. Blofis_.

“Um, is Dr. Blofis here?”

Her mouth contorts in a frown as she looks around to locate a clock. “He usually rolls in around seven-thirty, so he should be here in about fifteen minutes. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“My name is Will Solace,” I say, feeling the calmness of my usual manner oozing back into my limbs. “I’m the new resident from NYU School of Medicine.”

The girl’s green eyes brighten. “Oh! I’m sorry! Of course, come in!” She throws open the door to the area behind the desk, closing it shut after both of my feet have entered the perimeter and holds out her hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Em.”

“Hello, Em.” I smile, shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess back here,” Em apologizes, brushing hair off her face and shuffling through a stack of papers. “I’m usually much more organized than this, but I guess it was crazy last night, and now patients’ charts are everywhere, and I have to get them in order before Dr. Blofis gets here or else he’ll start the day off cranky, and believe me, you don’t want that.” She blows out a long breath. “Sorry, I get slightly frazzled when things are disorganized. However, I have long since learned not everyone is particular to order the same way I am.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say, shrugging my backpack off my shoulders. “I can understand that, I’m OCD about that, too. Is there anything I can help with?”

Em smiles at me. “You came here to work. I like you already, Dr. Solace.”

Her compliment warms me; I can’t help my cringe at Dr. Solace. “Um, unless it’s protocol here, you don’t have to call me Dr. Solace. I actually prefer just Will.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I guess I’m set in habit. I called Dr. Blofis Paul once, and he nearly blew a gasket. I will remember to call you Will, I promise. On one condition.”

I raise my eyebrow. “What would it be?”

“You call me just Em.” Em’s eyebrow goes up in mirror to mine. “My full name is Emerlee. But, it’s just Em. Unless there’s a serious emergency.”

I nod, unable to hide my smile. “Alright, just Em, you’ve got a deal.”

“Great.” She gestures toward my backpack leaning on the end of the desk. “There are cubbies just down that hallway”-she points behind her-“You are more than welcome to leave your things in there.”

“Okay, thanks.” I find the place she meant, store my things, remove my phone from the front pocket in my scrub top and head back to her. “Now, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Actually…” Em pulls the pen from her ear and scribbles something down on a chart. “Yes. The stack of charts at the end, there, can you just make sure they’re all in order? Make sure all of the information documented in them correlates with the same patient, and then place them in order of room number on the cart behind us?”

“Sure!” I say, thankful to be put to work right away. I make it through just two charts before the sound of a door banging open distracts both me and Em.

“Let me go!” a male voice screams.

“Oh, no,” Em gasps, worry coloring her tone. She tosses her papers onto the desk and flies out the door, her ponytail swinging wildly behind her. I hurriedly stuff my pen in the chart to mark my place and rush after her.

A young nurse in hot pink scrubs has a firm hold on a young man’s wrist. She looks furious, her almond-shaped eyes narrowed in frustration, her upper lip curled in an unimpressed snarl. She’s dragging him along behind her, pulling his arm with one hand and an IV pole in the other.

Her patient has to be no older than twenty. He’s a few inches shorter than me-I’m just above six-foot-two, so I guess lots of people are shorter than me. His hair is the color of a raven’s wing and curls softly below his ears and across his forehead. His eyes are large, darker than a rich cup of coffee, slightly sunken in and bagged with dark blue bruises. His lips look soft and pouty. His skin is ghostly white, almost translucent, accentuating sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. He’s wearing a thin, snowflake-patterned hospital gown, but I can see that he is malnourished, thin and bony.

He is absolutely gorgeous.

I stop following Em, my feet frozen to the floor in the middle of the unit. My heart is pounding. There’s a rush in my chest that I’ve never experienced before; it spreads throughout my body, all the way to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes. My insides are full of jitters and warmth. My lips are tingling.

_Oh my gods._

Em brings the pair to a screeching halt, releasing the nurse’s fingers from the boy. “Nico,” she says fearfully. “Why are you up?” She turns to the nurse. “Why is he up?”

“This kid is impossible!” the nurse explodes. “We had issues with him all night! He refuses to sleep, and when he finally collapses in exhaustion, he screams his head off in his sleep! It scares the crap out of us and it wakes everybody up. Other patients have complained, Em.”

Em blatantly ignores her co-worker. She steps closer to the boy and carefully sets both her hands on his shoulders. “Nico, you were having nightmares again?” she asks. “Why didn’t you get them to phone me? I could have come in!”

Nico is shaking his head at her while she fusses over him. “No, Em.” His voice is small and meek. “You already stayed late yesterday, and you looked so tired, and you had a gig last night…”

“You are much more _important_!” Em tries. “It doesn’t matter…”

The other nurse rolls her eyes, releasing Nico’s IV pole. “Blah, blah, blah, whatever. You seriously need to get a grip on him, Em, nobody is able to get proper rest with him around. He is such a disruption.”

Her words send an anger ball to the pit of my stomach. I can feel my fingers clenching into fists.

Em, clearly understanding and sharing my anger, exhales slowly through her nose. “Drew, I don’t appreciate how _un_ helpful you’re being right now, so why don’t you just get your stuff ready to go home, and let me handle this? Because I’m obviously the only one who cares enough to know how.”

Drew huffs and examines her nails. “Finally.” She takes a step in my direction, stopping when she notices my presence. The smile bending her mouth makes me feel nothing but uncomfortable.

“And who is _this_?”

Em’s attention doesn’t shift from Nico. “Will, Drew. Drew, Will. He is our new resident.”

“Oh!” Drew bats her eyelashes. “You’re Whizkid!” She extends her hand. “I’m Drew.”

“Will,” Em and I say simultaneously. “Um, please don’t call me Whizkid.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she drawls, “We all call you Whizkid.”

“Um…”

“Go home, Drew!” Em snaps. “You’ve harassed enough people today.”

Drew makes a rude gesture behind Em’s back; it’s all I can do not to let my anger snap right there. “Fine. Good luck with your problem child. It was very nice to meet you…Will.”

“She’s such a BITCH!” Nico hollers after her as she skips to the nurse’s desk.

I actually couldn’t agree with him more.

“Hey,” Em soothes. “Hush, I know, it’s okay. I’m here now.”

“I wish working twenty-four hours couldn’t kill you.”

Em’s laugh is warm. “We both know it would, and then what would you do?”

“Die,” Nico mumbles, so quietly I almost don’t hear him. “Die like I was supposed to.”

_What?_

My heart clenches tight enough to rob me of oxygen. My knees turn to piles of jelly.

_No. No way. Not on my watch._

Em’s back has gone rigid; I can hear tears nearing in Nico’s voice now.

“She took my shirt, Em. She made me change my shirt and…they’re everywhere…”

“Shhh, that doesn’t matter. We’ll get your shirt back.” She cranes her neck sideways. “Will? Are you there?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’m right here.”

“I promise I don’t normally do this to new residents, but I could really use your help right now.”

“Anything. What do you need?”

Em shifts her hips so she’s at a forty-five-degree angle between Nico and me. “I need you to go behind the desk, and find the chart that has Nico di Angelo written on it. Then, go to the wall farthest from the desk and grab an open box of Prozac. Put two pills in a little paper cup-those can be found beside the sink. Bring all of it to me. Please.”

A tingle shoots down my spine, showering into my fingertips. “Tofranil,” I say before I can stop myself.

Em’s eyebrows furrow in the shape of a v. “What?”

“I don’t think Prozac will be strong enough. My suggestion would be to try Tofranil.”

“You think he should be switched to a stronger anti-depressant?”

“I do.” I step forward to stand next to her, holding out one of my hands. “May I?”

She back-pedals, giving me a bit more space. “Of course.”

“Nico,” I say gently, leaning down slightly to look the other boy in the eye. “My name is Will. I’m going to touch your hand, is that okay?”

Nico’s eyes dart feverishly in Em’s direction; she meets his panicked gaze and nods calmly. He immediately blushes and looks down at his sock-covered feet.

_Oh, gods, he’s so adorable when he blushes…_

_Get your shit together, Solace._

I stretch my fingers forward until they find Nico’s, which feel like skeleton, colder than ice.

The shock starts pulsing at the top of my head, filling every inch of my body with a steady stream of warmth. Electricity crackles through my veins, spreading over my entirety like an out of control wildfire. I sense so much darkness in this boy, it causes me physical pain-a sharp stab right through my chest. My face is burning. The longer my fingers are connected with his, the duller the pain becomes. And then it disappears completely, replaced by a second powerful surge of warmth that turns into a pool of fire in my groin. A strangled gasp escapes the back of my throat. I let go of Nico’s hand.

He is blushing worse than I am: a bright, vibrant red spreading quickly about his face, ears, and neck. His eyes meet mine for the fastest of seconds before his gaze is ripped away from me and returned to the floor. He pulls his arms in tight to his torso, sinking his teeth into his lower lip.

I’m trying to calm myself down. Em is shifting her eyes between the two of us, trying to mask the mischievous smirk on her lips and the sparkle in her green eyes.

“Tofranil,” I manage after too many seconds. “I’ll go get the Tofranil.”

“And the chart!” Em calls after me. “Please!”

To further my embarrassment, Dr. Blofis is now standing behind the desk, squinting at something on the bright computer screen. His attention to my huff is almost instant.

“Will? Are you alright? Why is your face so red?”

“Good morning, Dr. Blofis,” I say, steadying my voice with all the effort I can muster. “I am fine, thank you, I am just helping Em with something.”

Dr. Blofis looks across the unit at Em and Nico. “Something?” he asks. “Or someone?”

“Maybe both?” I shrug, scanning through the mountain of charts until I see the one I’m in search of: di Angelo, Nico, written in clear, perfect handwriting down the spine. I stuff it under my arm and plow to the back, locating the cluster of antidepressants amongst a loaded shelf of drugs, plucking the box of Tofranil from the selection and dumping two into a tiny paper cup. Dr. Blofis doesn’t question me as I storm past him.

“Here you go,” I say, handing Em what she asked for.

“Thank you,” she says. Her fingers wrap around Nico’s IV pole. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

He nods slowly, reaching his arm out to grip the pole. Em shakes her head.

“No, sweetie, I’ve got this. You just walk.”

They shuffle off together, slowly, as if every step for him is racked with pain. Em turns around again just before they’ve reached the door to room 114.

“I’m sorry, Will. I will be right back.”

I don’t understand the reason behind her apology, but I spin on my heel and make my way back to the nurse’s desk so I can formally introduce myself to my boss.

Dr. Blofis has to be in his late thirties or early forties; his salt-and-pepper hair is cropped close to his head and matches his equally trimmed beard. His hazel eyes are framed with long, dark eyelashes and smile lines crinkled at the corners. He looks nothing less than professional in a pair of crisp black pants, navy blue collared shirt and lab coat, red stethoscope draped across his shoulders.

“I see my commander has already put you to work,” he says warmly, smiling.

“Oh, well, I mean, I offered to help her,” I stammer, suddenly feeling like a keener. Damn that Nico, getting me flustered like this.

“Oh, no, by all means, go ahead,” Dr. Blofis encourages. “It’s nice to see you so eager to jump in. Em is a great nurse; you’ll learn a lot from her while you’re here.”

“I look forward to that,” I tell him sincerely.

Em chooses to return from Nico’s room now, allowing the door to swing shut behind her with a loud bang, throwing all her weight into one of the wheeled chairs tucked underneath the desk. She dumps Nico’s chart on the desk; her elbows smack the surface as she buries her face in her hands.

Dr. Blofis sighs. His eyes cloud over with an emotion I can only define as sympathy, taking two large steps over to Em and setting his hand to her shoulder.

“Talk to me, kiddo. What’s going on?”

Em’s initial response is silence. She finally exhales loudly, running her fingers roughly over her ponytail.

“I can’t fix him, Dr. Blofis.” Her tone drips with sadness and dejection. “I’m running out of things to try. He…he talked about doing it again today.”

“Doing it meaning…?”

“Yes.”

“You know we won’t let that happen, Em,” says Dr. Blofis. “You have to admit he’s improved since he’s been here. Remember what I told you last week: it’s not your job to fix him.”

Em shuts her eyes, her fingers curling over the musical bird tattoo on the inside of her left forearm. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Dr. Blofis pats her shoulder comfortingly. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Be there for him. He has a team of support behind him, led by the best person possible: you. Don’t give up.”

“I guess you’re right…”

“You know I’m right. You know how much it helps when you get the support you need.”

Something dark and mysterious flashes behind her eyes, her mouth contorting in a pained wince. She blinks numerous times, continuing to brush her fingers over the surface of her tattoo. “You’re right,” she admits again. “I’m going to talk to Austin and see if he’ll switch with me for this afternoon’s group session. I want to supervise.”

“Alright.” Dr. Blofis nods in approval. “We might be able to weasel something out of the kid if you’re there. You administered his anti-depressants this morning already, yes?”

“Yes,” Em says. “Will suggested we adjust them to something stronger.”

Dr. Blofis turns to me, his eyebrows raised. “What did you have in mind, Will?”

“I suggested Tofranil,” I tell him. “I know anti-depressants like the back of my hand. Prozac was a wise first choice; however, the amount of Nico’s progress leads me to think he may be more suited to a stronger dosage.

“If we find the Tofranil isn’t giving us the results we want, we can switch him back, or result to an alternative approach.”

Dr. Blofis claps a satisfied hand on my shoulder. “Welcome aboard, Will Solace,” he declares, a large smile deepening the lines around his eyes. “Em, I’m going to take Will for his orientation now, are you good here?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she nods. “I’ll holler if there’s an emergency.”

 

The morning is more or less a blur. Dr. Blofis gives me a lengthy tour of the entire hospital, from which we return barely in time for the start of private morning therapy sessions. A new experience for me-I mostly sit in the corner and observe, making specific notes about every patient in my notebook. Then we go for lunch, where Dr. Blofis shows me his fancy private office, which is tucked around a deceiving corner just beside the rows of cubbies.

“You don’t have to sit in here with me if you don’t want to,” he says, pulling a large black lunch bag from his brief case. “Lunch comes for patients around noon, you’re more than welcome to sit in the main area with them.”

I choose to sit with him that day.

Next is group therapy, again during which I mostly sit and observe. I’m now aware of psych’s categorizing split between the Crazies and the Cutters, who switch off between private and group sessions (Monday, Wednesday, Friday: Cutters private, Crazies group; Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday: Crazies private, Cutters group. Sunday is therapy-free.) Today is Tuesday, so twelve patients ranging from the age of fifteen to fifty are arranged in a semi-circle in the middle of the open room. None of them are smiling.

Em is the last one to arrive, set to take the last of the three chairs lined at the top of the semi-circle. She’s alone, the patient she’d gone to retrieve absent from the trail behind her.

“Em,” Dr. Blofis says, tease coloring his tone, “You forgot Nico.”

“He’s sleeping like a rock,” she informs nonchalantly, taking her seat. “He’s making that little sighing noise out his nose. No way am I waking him.”

I shift uncomfortably in my chair. That sounds so cute.

Dr. Blofis merely smiles; a sullen girl about sixteen turns around to give Em a disgusted look.

“So it’s okay for di Angelo to sleep through group therapy, but not me?”

“Katie.” Em’s smile is sickly sweet. “When you become sleep-deprived because of haunting nightmares, you can sleep through group therapy, too.”

Katie’s face turns red as a tomato, slouching in her chair and crossing her arms with a huff. She doesn’t say a word for the entire session.

Group therapy, I learn, is quite different from independent therapy, in the sense that it’s so…quiet. Katie is not the only patient who refrains from speaking. Dr. Blofis does most of the talking, asking open-ended questions to the entire group, barely getting a response from anyone, except the occasional mumble from one or two. Em keeps a notepad in her lap despite the fact she writes hardly anything on it; instead she expertly twirls her pen around her fingers, the way that would drive me nuts if we were writing an exam.

“Get used to this,” she whispers to me about halfway through the session. “I can count on one hand how many times we actually got a discussion out of group therapy.”

“Good to know,” I say back.

About ten minutes before the session is due to end, Dr. Blofis’s motivational speech gets cut off by a knock at the door. Austin sheepishly pokes his blonde head around the door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says, looking mostly at Em. “Em? Jason is here.”

Em stops twirling her pen. “Oh, okay. Can you tell him I’ll be ten minutes?”

“You can go, Em,” Dr. Blofis tells her. “It’s only ten minutes, I’m sure Will and I can handle things.”

“Yeah, of course,” I say, assuming this Jason must be pretty important in order for Austin to disrupt group therapy. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine.”

The slowest ten minutes of my life finally drag by, concluding with Dr. Blofis dismissing each and every patient with a smile and positive comment. Three patients thank him. The rest say nothing.

I head back to the nurse’s desk to shadow Dr. Blofis on how to file completed therapy sessions and notice Em standing off to the side, deep in conversation with a tall blonde man. He’s wearing a plain purple t-shirt underneath a purple-navy-white-black flannel and faded jeans; his shoulders are slightly hunched forward and he’s clutching a large cup of cheap gas station coffee. I can’t see his face, but there’s a pinch in my stomach telling me I know him from somewhere…

When he turns around, I see the wire-rimmed glasses and the scar on his upper lip and it hits me.

“Jason?”

Hearing his name, Jason spins around in my direction, squinting slightly behind his glasses. “Will?”

I take six large steps towards the pair, joining their conversation. “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“Visiting Nico,” he says, as if I’m supposed to know that already. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the new resident.”

Jason’s glacier eyes widen as he smacks the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Gods, I am so dense. Of course you’re Whizkid! I should have been able to put two and two together!””

“It’s okay,” I say, this time deciding to ignore the Whizkid comment. “I didn’t tell anyone where I’d been placed for residency, or even what my top three choices were.”

“So clearly you guys know each other,” Em points out, a coy smile on her lips. “Care to explain?”

Jason casually slings an arm around my shoulders. “Will and I go way back. We used to play hockey together in high school.”

“And then we played against each other for the first year of college,” I say, unable to hold back my memorable grin. “So, how do you know Nico?”

Jason shrugs his arm off me, an uneasy expression washing over his face. “We met about five years ago at this summer camp I used to go to. Got off to sort of a rocky start; if you have yet to notice, Nico’s a bit of an introvert. He’s not that good at friendships or physical contact or any contact, really. He seemed kind of…sketchy, I didn’t trust him very much.

“Anyway, to make a long story short, there was an incident one summer that brought us closer together. Ever since then, he’s been like a little brother to me.” Jason adjusts his crooked glasses and exhales sadly. “Piper and I were the ones who…found him.”

My heart plummets into my stomach, my brain incapable to imaging what that was like. Em and I each set a hand on Jason’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Jason,” I say sincerely. “I can’t even imagine going through something like that.”

“It was hard,” Jason admits, pushing a hand through his hair. “But, I mean, I visit every day, and it’s amazing to see his progress so far. I owe a lifetime of thanks to Em and Dr. Blofis.” He smiles. “And now, you, too.”

Em grins up at Jason, then looks at me. “I was just explaining to Jason how we adjusted Nico’s depression meds this morning.” She pats Jason’s shoulder again. “You can go on in. He’s been sleeping all day.”

“Like, really sleeping?”

She nods. “He’s making that sighing sound.” She inhales deeply and exhales out her nose in a way that would be completely adorable if I actually liked girls. Jason’s face turns a light shade of pink.

“Thanks, Em. See you around, Will.”

I lift my hand in a wave; Em ushers me back to the desk where we finish up therapy paperwork and go over directions to prep patients for dinner. Before I know it, I’m looking at the clock and it says 1847-less than fifteen minutes until my day is done.

“That went fast,” I point out to Em, nodding my head at the clock. “It’s almost time to go home.”

She smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “The days usually do go fast. And I think I’m actually going to go home on time today.”

“Don’t you usually?”

Em shakes her head, stifling a yawn behind her hand. “I’m often here late, whether it’s an extra thirty minutes or three hours. Most patients either don’t notice, or don’t care, but Nico gets especially frustrated with me.”

“He slept all day.”

This time she nods. “I know. Normally we don’t allow that, but I’m sure the last time he got a decent amount of sleep was…five days ago? Give or take. He deserves it.”

I awkwardly rub the back of my neck, trying to distract myself from the emotional tug in my chest. “Why doesn’t he sleep?” I ask.

Em opens her mouth to answer me; she’s interrupted by a guttural shriek echoing from across the room. Her face turns ashen.

“You’re about to find out,” she says, following the continuing screams, making a beeline for Nico di Angelo’s room.


	3. Nico: Never Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico has an uncommon type of nightmare that is a different kind of disturbing than what he's used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I forgot to mention that my chapters are usually quite long. Sorry not sorry. Here is a bit more background on Em. Enjoy!

“Even if I say it’ll be alright,  
Still I hear you say you want to end your life.  
Now and again we try to just stay alive.  
Maybe we’ll turn it around ‘cause it’s not too late,  
It’s never too late.”

In all my years of nightmares, I can say I never experienced one like this before.

At first, it confuses me.

I’m standing in the corner of a hospital room, but it’s not my hospital room. My room in the psych unit is tiny, a square shape composed of four sickly white walls, colourfully flecked tile floor, no windows. And it’s empty, the only sort of furniture being my single bed, a rolling bedside table and a small cubby to store my clothes. The room I’m in is quite the opposite: spaciously large, open, with a big window spanning the view of downtown Manhattan; it’s nighttime now, but I can still see the city lights reflecting a twinkle through the glass. There’s only one bed in the room, definitely larger than mine, and it’s occupied.

The man is young. Much too young to be in this place. I find it hard to look at him.

He’s so thin, gaunt, emaciated; his cheeks are sallow, eyes sunken too far into his skull even though they’re closed. He’s wearing a hospital gown, but I can see the sharpness of his collarbone, the tendons bulging out of his neck. A sick feeling in my stomach tells me I could count his ribs, or the vertebrae in his spine.

He’s surrounded by machines, wires, all of them either beeping or flowing. His heartrate is low, indicated by the monitor closest to his bedside that alternates a flash of numbers between 33 and 39. The oxygen prongs settled in his nose are useless in raising his O2 saturation; that number is on a different monitor and also low. I count three IVs: one in each of his bony hands, and one nearing the crook of an elbow. The left-handed one is streaming clear fluid, leading up to a full, freshly changed bag; the right-handed one is transfusing a pint of rich, red blood; the one in his arm dispenses an apricot-coloured liquid, its medically long name stamped neatly across the dosage bag.

This man is dying.

There’s a large plush reclining chair parked next to his bed, facing the window. I am facing the back of the chair, able to make out the corduroy pattern of the faded blue fabric, but not its occupant. In between consistent beeps, I can hear faint sounds that tell me whoever is sitting there is listening to music.

A door to my right creaks open, and a man who I think is a doctor steps inside. He’s slightly aged, grey-ish hair and a few wrinkles, wearing fancy slacks and a nice shirt underneath his lab coat, stethoscope slung around his neck.

Yeah, he’s a doctor.

He crosses the room, pausing at the chair to disturb the man’s visitor; it spins around to face him and I get my first glimpse of her.

I know her. I recognize her auburn hair, curling softly around her face and cascading down over her shoulders. I recognize the intensity of her green eyes.

Oh my gods.

It’s Em.

Em removes her headphones; I’m doused in the sound of thrashing guitars, pulsing drums, and screaming. It sounds suspiciously like Bring Me the Horizon.

I love Bring Me the Horizon.

“Hi, Dr. Ramsay,” Em says, her voice thickened by fatigue.

Dr. Ramsay’s smile is full of empathy. “Are you going to stay tonight, Em?” he asks her gently. “It’s okay if you are, but if you aren’t, I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave. Visiting hours are over now.”

Em sighs, scrubbing her eyes with a tightly clenched fist and running her fingers through her hair. “Do you know how much longer?” she asks her own question rather than answering his. Dr. Ramsay shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t.”

“Tonight?”

The doctor’s lips purse; he scratches the back of his neck. “It might be tonight,” he answers honestly. “I really don’t know. Every patient is different. It will happen when it is meant to happen.” He squeezes her shoulder. “He knows how much you’ve been here for him, Em. You may not believe it, but he does. And I know he would want you to look after yourself, too. He would want you to get some sleep.”

Em sighs again. “I’m so tired,” she murmurs quietly.

“I know you are. Is Jackson home tonight?”

Em nods. “He took the night off.”

Dr. Ramsay smiles warmly. “Go home. Get some rest. You can come back in the morning; I’ll let you in early.”

Em’s nod seems robotic; Dr. Ramsay leaves the room and she gets up to kiss the dying man’s cheek. She leans closer, whispering something in his ear.

I can’t hear her.

Now it’s dark.

And the phone is ringing.

There’s the sounds of shifting, groaning, and shuffling, and the phone keeps ringing. Then more groaning, a click of a lamp being turned on. Yellow-tinged light floods a slightly messy bedroom. The clock radio on the nightstand reads just before 3 AM.

The phone stops ringing.

Em’s hair is schlepped into a messy ponytail; she’s wearing a large grey t-shirt I’m assuming is Jackson’s. I don’t know if she was sleeping, but she’s wide awake now.

Jackson comes back into the room. He’s clutching the phone in his hand. He holds it out towards her.

The look on his face says everything.

Em takes the phone from him and holds it to her ear without even the slightest of emotion on her face. “Hello.”

She says nothing for a little while, her face emotionlessly frozen. Finally, she whispers: “Okay,” and “Thank you, Dr. Ramsay.”

She hangs up the phone.

Jackson drops to his knees on the floor in front of her, cradling her face in his hands. His eyes are full of tears, threatening to spill at any second.

“Em…” His voice is barely a whisper. “Baby, I am so, so, _so_ sorry…”

Em puts the fingernail of her index finger in her mouth. She won’t look at him.

“He’s gone. Jax, he’s gone.”

Jackson wraps her in his arms, stroking her hair gently, lovingly with his fingers. Silent tears leak from his eyes and trace his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry.”

Em says nothing. And then she falls apart, digging her nails into Jackson’s shoulder blades, crying into his chest.

No, not crying.

It’s way worse than crying.

She’s bawling. Her sobs rip across the room, echoing loudly in the enclosed space, sending her entire body into bouts of shuddering tremors. They are the most horrible, heartbreaking sounds I’ve ever heard.

She’s like that for an hour and a half. Until she’s cried so much, she starts uncontrollably hiccupping.

I know how she feels.

It’s dark again.

The bathroom light is on and the tap is running. The water pooling in the sink has an odd pinkish tint; I can see the palm of a hand streaked with blood.

_Just do it already, you worthless piece of shit._

_Nobody will miss you._

_You’re not Aidan. You’re so different and weird and nobody likes you._

What about Jackson? And Mom?

_You already weren’t your mother’s favourite child. She won’t care. And Jackson will find someone else to love. Someone better. Someone not as fucked up as you._

_You’re so fucked up._

_Hurry up and do it already._

I hear the click of a child-proof cap.

It’s dark again.

“Em?” Jackson’s voice rings throughout the house, full of panic and worry. “Em, are you here?” His heavy footsteps pound the stairs.

“Emerlee!”

The bathroom light is harsher, brighter this time. The tap is still running. Next to it are two envelopes: Jackson and Mom.

Em is sprawled out on the floor, her hair strewn around her face. The three newest additions to her line of scars have stopped bleeding, now just puckered, angry, thin red lines. An empty orange bottle is laying just beyond the reach of her fingertips.

I wish I could explain the look on Jackson’s face.

Heartbroken. Devastated. Lost.

Those don’t even begin to cover it.

The paramedics are trying to ask him questions in the back of the ambulance. He’s clearly not listening, his eyes glossed over and blank, his face pale and tearstained. He’s clinging to Em’s limp hand, staring across her lifeless body at a machine reporting her ridiculously high heartrate and impossibly low blood pressure.

“Mr. Barlow.”

Jackson lifts his head; two more tears trickle down his cheeks.

“I know you’re in shock right now, son, but we really need you to help us out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What happened before you found Emerlee?”

“Em,” Jackson snaps. “Her name is Em. And nothing happened. I told you at the house I found her like that, sprawled out on the floor within reach of an empty pill bottle and unconscious.”

“Did she ever show any signs of wanting to harm herself?”

“Fucking clearly,” Jackson huffs, annoyed, pointing an index finger at Em’s scarred wrist. “Look at that fucking mess.”

The EMT sighs loudly. “I’m guessing you were not aware of her self-harming issues?”

“I knew she was sad.” Jackson’s tone has gone soft again, almost unintelligible. “But I didn’t think it was that bad…And if it was….I just wish she told me about it. She could’ve _talked_ to me, I was _always there_ for her…”

“We’re going to try our best to help her, son,” the EMT says, laying a hand to Jackson’s shaking shoulder. “You did what you could. We’re almost at the hospital now. It’ll be okay.”

There is a prep team waiting for them when they arrive, composed of four nurses, a respiratory therapist, a lab tech, the emergency doctor, and Dr. Blofis. Jackson follows the paramedics team off into a corner to sit and wait.

The first five minutes go reality-TV-show smoothly. Em is transferred to a different stretcher, connected to a heart monitor, put on oxygen and infused with an IV attached to a giant bag of fluid. The team works fluidly, professionally, weaving in and out around each other so everyone can get what they need and get out of the way. Dr. Blofis and a nurse I recognize from my first week in the hospital are the ones barking orders at everybody.

And then, all of a sudden, it happens.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

For a split second, the whole team stops, completely still. And then they’re all off again, screaming different instructions to be heard over the ear-splitting alarm that’s now going off overhead. One of the nurses comes out, heading to the cluster of EMTs and grabs Jackson’s hand.

“Come on, honey, you’re going to come with me, okay?”

Jackson’s eyes scream panic. “Why? What’s going on? What’s happening?!”

“Come on!” the nurse urges, pulling him by his wrist down the hallway; he reluctantly follows, screaming Em’s name. The alarm is booming above.

CODE BLUE.

It’s not dark this time.

Now I’m enveloped in warm, white light, wrapped around me like a soft blanket. My limbs feel heavy, my head full of cotton, my chest uncomfortably tight. I don’t know where I am.

“Em?”

I snap my head up at the sound of a man’s voice. Em is standing maybe five feet from me, wearing a flowy white dress and no shoes, her curly hair falling down her back.

Someone is coming towards her, calling her name in a tone coated by confusion, maybe even anger.

“Em?” the man says again. “What are you doing here?”

I can’t control my gasp when I see the man. He’s tall, like Will tall (Will? Why am I thinking about Will in the middle of this dream?), with soft brown hair sticking up in styled tousles made to look like bedhead, and hazel eyes popped by flecks of emerald. He’s dressed in a fancy black suit and white bowtie. He’s so handsome here, almost breathtaking, so different from the man I saw lying in that hospital bed.

I know this man without knowing him.

Aidan Anthony Sharpe. Em’s brother.

Em picks nervously at the skin around her thumbnail. “I wanted to see you, Aidan,” she says. “I want to be with you again. I miss you so much.”

The hardened expression on Aidan’s face softens a little. “I miss you, too, Em. But, you can’t be here.”

“Why not? I am here, aren’t I?”

“You shouldn’t be.” Aidan’s face turns to stone again. “It’s not your time, yet.”

Em’s eyebrows knit together, puzzled. “I committed suicide, Aidan,” she says tersely. “I’m pretty sure that means I’ve decided when my time is…”

Aidan is shaking his head furiously. “No, no it doesn’t work that way! You can’t just decide when you want to die, everything has to be set in place!” He huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “You have to go back.”

“What?”

“You have to go back,” Aidan repeats. “I’m not letting you stay here with me.”

Em’s hands curl into tight fists. “Are you actually suggesting that you’re going to kick me out of heaven?”

“You can’t kick people out of heaven. I’m merely saying I’m going to escort your soul back to the physical world, because it’s not near ready to be accepted here.”

Now it’s Em’s turn to cross her arms and huff. “What, are you an expert in death now?”

Aidan shortens the gap between him and his sister, the slight heels of his fancy black dress shoes clicking softly on the floor. I get a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing-my knees instantly become a little weak. He smells like Will, a combination of fresh linen and subtle musk. (What the fuck. Will. Again?)

“I am no expert,” Aidan says. “I am only an experience. That is enough. And you, my dearest little sister, are not ready to become an experience yet.”

Em looks like she’s trying really hard not to cry. Her chin is wobbling and her eyes are shiny with tears.

“It’s so hard without you now. You were such a big, important piece of my life and now it’s just…gone. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do… What am I supposed to do without you, Aidan?”

She’s crying now, not hard, but I can see a stream of tears tracing down her cheeks, her shoulders hunched forward, her hands folding and unfolding.

Aidan blinks, all the anger hidden in his features gone. He can see how broken she’s become. He eliminates the space between them to pull her in his arms, rubbing his hands up and down her back and kissing her hair.

“I miss your hugs,” Em whimpers.

“I know.” Aidan sighs. The tone of his voice is enough to break my heart. “I miss yours, too. I miss you.” He hugs her tighter; I swear I hear him sniffling.

“I’m sorry.”

Em looks up at him, confusion sweeping across her face. “Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

“Dying. For dying the way I did. For putting you through…” He stalls, squeezing his eyes shut. “For fuck’s sake, Em, I didn’t even remember who you were.”

A small smile traces Em’s lips. “That was the tumour, Aidan, not you. Don’t apologize for something you had no control over. Besides, we’re together now.”

Aidan exhales again, deeper this time, extending it like he’s trying to stall for time. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he moves his hands from Em’s shoulders down her arms to clasp her hands.

“Emerlee…I meant what I said. You can’t stay here. It’s not your time. You’re going to go back and be with Jackson. I guarantee he will miss you more than you’re missing me.”

Em’s face falls at the mention of Jackson’s name; Aidan cups one side of her face with his hand.

All of a sudden I’m back in the corner of that trauma room, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of chaos exploding around me. People keep running in and out, bringing equipment in or taking it with them. Everyone is shouting. The heart monitor is still a continuous, droning beep, the screen showing nothing but a long, flat line.

“I don’t think this is going to work!” one of the nurses yells, prepping a syringe with clear liquid. “There’s too much in her system; her heart will give out before we can flush enough!”

“No!” the emergency doctor shouts. His dark eyes shine with determination. “Did you see the look on that kid’s face? We HAVE to do this! Get me the crash cart!”

Em and Aidan are in front of me now. Em reaches up to grip the hand of her brother’s on her face.

“I can’t leave Jackson,” she says softly. “I can’t do this to him.”

Aidan smiles in agreement. “Don’t worry, my sister. We will be together again one day. I promise. And remember, I’m never far away. I’m always with you.” His free hand spreads over her heart. “Right here.”

In the trauma room, there’s a flicker on the heart monitor.

_Beep. Beep._

“Yes!” The doctor’s exclamation makes me jump. “Yes, that’s it, my sweetheart. Keep going.”

Em is fading, disappearing from Aidan’s embrace. For a moment, a wave of fear whispers across her face, but Aidan shakes his head and kisses her forehead.

“Don’t be afraid. It will all be okay. I love you, Em.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

“We got her,” the same nurse who thought they had lost her announces with obvious relief. “Pulse is 43, blood pressure 87/59.”

The emergency doctor scribbles some notes on the chart in his hands before having a brief conversation with Dr. Blofis. “We’ll keep her here until morning under constant monitoring. Then Dr. Blofis will admit her to psychiatric and commence a seventy-two-hour evaluation.” They shake hands and Dr. Blofis is gone. “Oh, and somebody better go tell that kid that she’s alive.”

 

There’s nothing particularly terrifying about this nightmare, however I find myself awake with a scream leaving my throat. Maybe it’s out of habit; I’ve grown used to the haunting thoughts that plague my sleep, ones worthy of my uncontrollable screams.

I sit up in bed to rub the crusted sleep from my eyes. It doesn’t surprise me how quickly I hear the sounds of footsteps thundering towards my room.

The unnatural white light from the common room spills into my room, forcing me to fight the urge to squint. The softer yellow glow from the light above my bed takes its place; Em enters my room-very much alive, green eyes bright and wide, cheeks flushed-with Will right behind her. Both of them look worried.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, unable to look either of them in the eye. “It was just a dream, not that bad, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

The weight of my mattress shifts and I can tell Em has taken her usual seat. I feel her reach to rest her hand on my foot, but she hesitates.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her voice is so soft, so concerning my stomach twists. My vision clouds with images of her lying unconscious on her bathroom floor, of the straight, steady line on that monitor…

“Nico?”

I can feel a hand on my foot. It’s not Em’s, though, it’s larger and warmer and it’s sending tingles all throughout my leg.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Will’s voice is almost gentler than Em’s; I catch the subtlety of a southern drawl and instantly my heart is racing. “But, we’re here to listen if you do.”

There’s that drawl again. A shiver snakes down my spine.

_Gods, Nico. Calm yourself._

I bring myself to meet Em’s gaze, so slow it’s nearly painful. Her eyes are so big, so green I can hardly hold my own eyes to them.

“Your brother was so handsome.”

She manages a small, weak laugh. “Yes, he was.” Then, her eyes glaze over. “Wait, what? How do you know that?”

The deep breath I take only worsens the ache in my lungs. “I…I saw him.”

“Saw him where?”

“In my dream.” I can’t look at her anymore. “I saw…the night he…died. And the night you…” I try so hard to focus on staying calm, on the ins and outs of my breaths no matter how shaky they are, refusing to let myself be pulled into the spirals of an anxiety attack. “Em, you died. You didn’t just _try_ to commit suicide. You _succeeded._ You were dead, I saw it.”

Em’s lips part slightly, letting out a tiny, shrill whistle. Her eyes are glassy, threatening to shatter at any second.

“So, you saw…me and Aidan…when he…I… _oh, Nico_ …I’m…”

“No,” I cut her off, selfishly unable to handle seeing her cry. To prove my point, I lean forward and encircle my hand around her wrist, something she knows is beyond a rarity. “Don’t say it. It’s okay.”

She nods microscopically, inhaling slowly and clearing her throat. “Okay. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I say, glad for once my answer to that question is the whole, complete truth. “I’m sorry for worrying you. Both of you.”

I can feel Will’s unfairly blue eyes on me, searching, pulling, grasping for something deep inside me; I manage to meet his inquisitive gaze for only a moment before ripping away, pretending to be fascinated by a loose thread in my sheets. He, too, clears his throat.

“Uhm, Em? If I may, what is he talking about?”

Em’s eyes shift from me to him, back to me, then to him. “I’ll explain a different day, okay? I promise. You’ve worked hard enough today; I don’t want to completely overwhelm you on your first day.”

Will opens his mouth, seemingly ready to protest, but at the last minute thinks better of it and doesn’t pry. The timely knock on my door provides a path for the worry to visibly wash off his face, leaving him unbelievably beautiful.

_Stop it, Nico._

My mood immediately changes the moment Drew walks into my room, today wearing a pair of sunshine yellow scrubs. The smile on her overly made-up face is so fake, it looks like it could be made of plastic.

“Your goth boy is here, Em. Your _other_ goth boy, I mean.” Her eyes narrow and she giggles like she just told the funniest joke in the world. “He says you _really_ have to hurry and get going. Hello again, Will.”

“Hi,” Will replies politely, but I can hear the clench in his voice as a pink hue stains his freckled face.

I want to touch those freckles. I want to put my fingertips on each and every one as I count them…

_NICO._

“Gig tonight?” I ask Em, forcing my mind to jump aboard a train of any other topic except for Will. She nods.

“Yeah. That’s why Jax picked me up. Do you feel up for walking?”

I nod.

“Okay, come on, then. We’ll find you some food, you need to eat something.” She unhooks my IV, allowing me to walk without a tag-along, and ushers all of us out, telling Will she’ll meet him behind the nurse’s desk. As soon as I’ve so much as made a motion to sit at one of the plastic tables spaced out around the common area, she’s gone, making a beeline for Jackson, who is standing just off to the side, out of the way. From here, he looks like a combination of Cole Sprouse’s character, Jughead Jones, in the Netflix series _Riverdale_ and Andy Biersack, the lead singer for Black Veil Brides.

Yeah, okay, he’s hot. I can see why she likes him.

She wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a kiss, clearly not caring who sees. Her hands cup the sides of his face, mouthing something very quickly before kissing him again, and then again.

Jackson looks more than slightly confused when Em pulls away from him to join Will behind the desk. I don’t blame him. But then, he doesn’t understand why she did that, the reason behind her sudden onset of PDA.

I understand why. And I feel so sorry for him.

Em comes back a couple minutes later, setting a tray containing a bowl of chicken noodle soup, some crackers, a bun, chocolate pudding and a container of milk in front of me. “Eat this,” she says, her tone telling me I don’t have another option. “I brought this for you to change into when you’re finished.” She places a neatly folded black long-sleeve shirt in my lap; it’s my favourite one, plain black with a detailed picture of a skull and crossbones.

“Thank you,” I say, my stomach growling because the soup actually smells delicious. “Hey, Em?”

“Yes, Nico?”

“Knock ‘em dead tonight.”

Her smile makes me want to smile. “I’ll sure try. You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” I assure her, hoping it’s enough to make her leave. “Promise. Now, go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze and is gone again, back to where Jackson is in the middle of a conversation with Will. They share another kiss; Em looks back at me and waves before they disappear around the corner.

Will waves goodbye to Dr. Blofis, who is on the phone, and takes off in the same direction. I look down at my soup for a split second, hoping by the time I look up again he’ll be gone, but he isn’t. His eyes are so blue, even from across the room. He lifts a hand in casual goodbye, which I can’t return because the heat burning my face is enough to make me want to run back to the sanctuary of my room. I stare at the alphabet letters in my soup.

This time, when I raise my gaze, he’s gone.


	4. Will: Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil and Lou give Will some much-needed advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to write more for summaries, but at the same time I don't want to give anything away! We meet Cecil and Lou in this chapter, yes I've decided to make them a couple.

“Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame,  
Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned,  
But just because it burns doesn't mean you're gonna die,  
You gotta get up and try, try, try." 

The day I walk into my tiny, one-bedroom apartment after my shift and hear sound coming from the living room is not the day I’m in the mood for company.

It started when I slept through my alarm and woke up twenty minutes before I was due at the hospital. It continued during group therapy when Cal, one of the more elderly patients who has severe dementia, had an uncontrolled rage episode and slammed me from a standing position into one of our sturdier group plastic chairs that still cracked under my weight and sent me sprawling to the floor-it took over ten minutes and three security guards to get him calm again. And it concluded with Em telling me the seriously depressing story that was her life two years ago, when her idolized brother lost his battle with progressive brain cancer and sent her into such a deep depression she actually managed to commit suicide until her brother told her she wasn’t ready to die yet, and sent her soul back to the physical world. Her story is bad enough, until it hits me that that’s what Nico had dreamt about last week, and the thought of someone already so plagued by sadness having to relive the pain of a loss that isn’t even his is enough to give me a migraine.

I guess my plan of tea, a hot shower, and sleep is no longer happening.

I set my backpack and keys down, adding my shoes to the two pairs strewn on the mat. “Cecil?” I call out carefully.

“Hey, Dr. Delicious. Lou’s here, too.”

“Hi, Will.”

They’re sitting side-by-side on my couch, feet entwined together, resting on my coffee table. There’s a small, half-eaten bowl of popcorn between them; they’re watching some sort of romantic comedy on Netflix.

“Do you two often hang out here when I’m not home?” I ask, lowering myself into the large recliner on the opposite side of the room, trying hard not to visibly wince as a wave of pain dances through my shoulder and down my back.

Cecil laughs and pokes Lou’s foot with his toe. “Nah. But, you are the one who gave me your spare key.” He flicks the joystick on my Xbox controller, hits a button to pause the movie. “Geez, you look like shit.”

Lou elbows him hard in the ribs. “What have I told you about keeping your opinions to yourself?” she chides before kissing his cheek. “How was your day, Will?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping just for one second my headache will subside. “It was rather horrible, thanks for asking. Which is why, Cecil, I look like shit. I’m exhausted.”

He fake-frowns, but the mischievous glint in his eyes tells me he’s not sorry for his comment on my appearance. “Wanna talk about it? Do we get to play psychiatrist for once?”

“Cecil!”

“What? How many times has he done it to us?”

“I’m actually studying to be a psychiatrist, Cecil,” I say. “What excuse have you got?”

To my surprise, Cecil only shrugs and stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Are you okay, though? Do you want to talk about it? Like, seriously.”

Really, I want to shrug it off. It’s not that big of a deal, merely something that bothers me. I mean, I’m sure I will encounter lots of things like this in my career. But, at the same time, I can’t simply shrug it off. It’s not just bothering me, it’s _bothering_ me. Yes, there’s a difference.

“Today was one of those one thing after another days. I overslept and didn’t have time to shower before work. I was assaulted during group therapy by one of our dementia patients. And, to top it all off, I found out one of our best nurses went through her own bout of depression and killed herself until her dead brother was all like, nope, it’s not your time yet, get back down there. And then Nico…”

Lou is up off the couch, interrupting me, invading my space with worry all over her face. “Oh my gods, Will, are you alright? Is that what the Code White was? I was in the middle of filling three prescriptions; I wasn’t able to come down.”

“I was in the middle of cervical spine x-rays,” Cecil says. “I couldn’t come, either. I feel bad now.”

“Don’t feel bad,” I tell them. “I’m okay, it’s just bruises, I think. I might get you to check before I hit the shower…”

“Well, whatever it is, if you need it x-rayed, I’m here.” Cecil thumbs his chest proudly. He’s been working in radiology at Manhattan General for the last year and a half; Lou’s there, too, except she’s a pharmacy student. Ironically, we all became friends our sophomore year of high school. I was the only one who was already set on medicine; Cecil kept flipping between accountant and police officer, and Lou wanted to go into environmental biology.

“Hold on,” Lou interrupts, holding up her hands. “I butted in. You were saying something about Nico? As in, Nico Nico?”

“Well, duh.” Cecil rolls his eyes. “How many Nicos do we know?”

“Oh, shut up. Will, what is it?”

I’m pressing the tips of my fingers against my temples in attempt to soothe the now pounding pain behind my eyes. “He’s just so…I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Tell us.”

Cecil’s moved from the couch; now he’s sitting on the footstool of my recliner next to Lou, both of them are looking at me with wide, unblinking eyes, I sigh loudly.

“I don’t really know how to describe him. Have you ever met someone who is so opposite you, you can’t even allow yourself to imagine getting along? And yet, all you want to do is be around them, like, all the time, because you’re so intrigued by them that your mind doesn’t let you stop thinking about them? That’s how I feel about Nico.

“From the moment I saw him, I knew there was something special about him. And no, I don’t mean the fact he’s suicidal. I mean the good kind of special. The kind of special that brings curiosity to your brain and longing to your heart and butterflies to your stomach. I want to know everything about him: how he thinks, how he feels, what he wants, what he needs. I don’t just want to put my psychiatry knowledge to use and crack open his brain to figure out the causes behind his desire to end his life; I want to be able to rid him of that desire. To be able to take away the seemingly endless amounts of pain in his eyes. To make him laugh and smile and realize that life is precious and beautiful, and it would be crazy to throw it all away.” I find myself in the middle of another long sigh. “That probably doesn’t make any sense to you guys. But, that’s how I feel.”

Lou and Cecil share this annoying, knowing glance. One of the corners of Lou’s mouth turns up as she sets her hand over mine.

“Will…I think you like him.”

My chest is suddenly gripped by pain so bad, I forget about my shoulder. “What?” I stutter. “No, that’s ridiculous. I don’t like him! That’s against the rules!”

“It’s against the rules for doctors to date their patients,” Cecil says pointedly. “It says nothing about crushes.”

“I thought we made a pact that I was going to take a break from dating? You know, after what happened last time.”

Lou groans and rolls her eyes; Cecil covers his eyes with his hand.

“We agreed to never speak of him again,” Lou mutters, her teeth clenched.

“I’m pretty sure Nico isn’t going to rat me out to my homophobic biology professor just because I wouldn’t have sex with him,” I say, the confidence in my voice slowly disappearing as I begin to remember what was probably the worst week of my life.

“That asshole almost got you _kicked out of med school_!” Cecil roars, his nostrils flaring. He stops and takes three deep breaths. “Enough of that. We’re talking about Nico. And I repeat, crushing is not the same as dating. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I’m not even sure if Nico is gay, Cecil. That’s kind of a big deal.”

Cecil raises a skeptic eyebrow. “How do you know he isn’t?”

“I’ve caught him checking out women?”

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

Heat starts steadily creeping up the back of my neck. “Em…”

Cecil scoffs loudly and sets his hand on Lou’s knee. “Will, everybody checks out Em. The woman’s basically a gothic goddess. Totally hot.”

“Your girlfriend is sitting right next to you,” I point out.

Lou simply shrugs. “I don’t mind. Even I think she’s hot. I would do her.”

The excited, greedy look lighting Cecil’s face makes my insides churn. “Guys, you do realize I have to work with her, right?”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Lou twists her hips so she can rest her back against Cecil’s chest. “Back to the whole point of this discussion. I’m going to give you three pieces of advice. One: remember, crushing is not the same thing as dating. Two: while you’re at work, make sure you prioritize your residency and professionalism; don’t let your personal feelings affect your job. And three-this is probably the most important one-Nico is not going to be a patient forever.”

I sit back and let her words sink in. When I grasp them, a smart smirk curls her upper lip.

“You’re welcome. We love you. Now, you should probably go take a shower. I brought lasagna, I can heat it up for you.”

Lou isn’t much of a cook, but I never pass up an opportunity to indulge in the ultimate deliciousness that is her homemade lasagna.

* * *

“Morning, Will! I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

I look up from the chart I’m reviewing at the sound of Em’s voice. She’s holding a tray of Starbucks coffees, her cheeks slightly pink from the chill in the fall air. “Sorry I’m a little bit late, the lineup was longer than I expected. Here.” She sets a large coffee in front of me, my name written on the cup in big, bubbly letters. “Venti Verona, black.”

I blink in surprise. “How did you know that’s what I like?”

“Because I asked you last week and remembered your answer?” Em pulls off her jacket and sips from her own cup. “Besides, that’s easy to remember. Way easier than a triple non-fat vanilla latte with half-sweet syrup and extra foam.”

“Is that what you drink?” I ask teasingly, unable to refrain from raising my eyebrows.

Em shakes her head, laughing. “That’s what Dr. Blofis drinks.”

I laugh too. “Well, either way, thank you for the coffee. I appreciate it. And don’t apologize, you’re not-”

“You’re late.”

Drew interrupts me, her tone dripping with anger. She slams her pen down on the counter and drums her fingers impatiently.

“No, she isn’t,” I defend before Em can open her mouth. “It’s 0703.”

“Right. Shifts are supposed to start at 0700.”

“Give it a rest, Drew,” Em sighs, taking another sip of her drink. “How many times have you been more than ten minutes late because you had to stop and get coffee? And you don’t even bring for the rest of us! Don’t worry, I’m here, you can go home now.”

Drew rolls her eyes, coming through the door and storming off to collect her things, muttering numerous insults under her breath.

“Is it professional to say that I really don’t care for her?” I ask.

“It’s a lot nicer than what the rest of us say,” Em answers. “I am sorry, I hate being late; I had a really late night last night, I needed a pick-me-up.”

“Em, it’s fine. You brought me coffee, you’re allowed to be a couple minutes late. I’m sure Lee and Dr. Blofis will appreciate it as well.”

“Lee’s here already, right?”

I nod. “He’s gotten started on his morning assessments. I’ve already organized the charts for today, it doesn’t look to be overly busy. Valentina came from the lab to draw blood from Katie and Mr. D; the only other thing I would like is an ECG on Nico. I haven’t gotten around to phoning it, though.”

Em smiles gratefully. “Oh, thanks, Will, you’re a saviour. I can phone radiology about that ECG.” She skips over to the phone, shimmying her hips and humming. “Hi, Cecil, it’s Em in psych, how are you? Good, good, I’m just about to enter an ECG on Nico di Angelo…around 0900, sound good? Awesome, thanks.” She hangs up the phone, tightens her ponytail and goes off to do her own round of assessments, leaving me alone until Dr. Blofis shows up.

Cecil shows up just after 0900; I hand him a sticker with Nico’s patient information on it and point him in the right direction. He comes out five minutes later wearing a big, stupid grin.

“You have good taste, my friend,” he whispers, leaning over the edge of the desk so no one else hears him. Despite his efforts to whisper, his voice still carries.

My face burns. “Thank you, now go before anyone else hears you!”

Cecil smirks, says goodbye to Em and disappears down the hall. I duck my head down, pretending to focus extra hard on the report lying in front of me, hoping nobody notices the sudden redness burning my entire face.

Damn Cecil. And damn Nico.

“Will?”

I snap my head up. “Huh, yeah?”

Em’s eyebrows knit together, her bottom lip pulled slightly between her teeth. “I asked you how your shoulder was. You were completely spaced out.”

“Oh.” I crane my neck, casting my eyes down over my left shoulder, where I can see a dark purple colour creeping up past the collar of my scrub top towards the back of my neck. “Uhm, it’s okay, I guess. It’s pretty…colourful; I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt.”

Em’s smile twists into a sympathetic grimace. “I don’t doubt that. Cal is really strong. Most people need time off after they’ve been a victim of one of his attacks. I should have stepped in yesterday.”

“Absolutely not,” I say sharply. “There’s no way I would let him hit you before me.”

“It’s happened before.”

“That doesn’t make it any better. Wait, it has?”

She nods feverishly. “My first month here. Same kind of situation, except he punched me in the face and instead of hitting a chair, I slammed into a wall. I was out for two weeks with a concussion and broken nose.”

Holy shit.

“Oh my gods,” I say, my jaw uncontrollably dropping. “That’s so scary.”

Em shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Jax had to come pick me up, and he was furious. It hasn’t happened since, not to me anyway. Honestly, though, I feel kind of bad for Cal.”

I tilt my head back, curious for her to continue. “Go on.”

She sits down in the chair opposite me, tucking her pen behind her ear and twirling one of her curls around her fingers. “Cal’s been a patient here for as long as I can remember. His form of dementia is one of the rarer kinds, it comes on sudden and fast. It’s deteriorated his mind so much that he has no control over anything. He has a wife and two sons; when they come to visit, he has no idea who they are, can barely form words to say to them. When he acts out like that, he doesn’t even understand what’s going on. So instead, he yells and screams and tries to connect with the closest thing he can find, which is unfortunately one of us. It’s his way of attempting to remember.

“I’m not saying that’s an excuse, or it makes it okay. But being trapped in a situation like that is hard. I’ve been in one. And I was only on the side of the one not being remembered, not the one who couldn’t remember.” She sighs deeply, flicking her curl over her shoulder.

“The hospital site manager has had numerous meetings with Kayla, with his family about transferring him to a facility with high-risk security, you know, the ones who remain on lock-down and only let their patients out for an hour a day and stick their meals through a tiny slot in the door. As if a place comparable to prison is going to alter the dimensions of his condition.”

“It won’t,” I say, a familiar feeling prickling the palms of my hands. “If anything, it will only make things worse for him. Nothing is going to free him from the depths of his mind. At least he’s comfortable here, and we know how to deal with him when he has those episodes.”

“Exactly,” Em agrees. “I don’t see how getting purposefully beat by a stick is suitable punishment for uncontrollable aggression. It’s bullshit.”

“Absolutely, it is.”

“What’s bullshit?”

I jump at the unexpected sound of Nico’s voice, banging my bad shoulder against the back of my chair. Chomping down hard on my knuckle, I stand up, pretending pain didn’t just explode through my back and down my left arm.

_Smooth, Will. Way to make yourself look like a dumbass in front of him._

“Nothing,” Em says with a casual, lazy smile. “What are you doing up? It’s before 1000.”

Nico raises his shoulders, a tiny, lopsided smile on his face. “I got nine hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep. I feel pretty good.”

“You look good,” Em says, taking the words out of my thoughts and voicing them like there’s nothing weird about it. “And I’m not even the one who did your assessment this morning.”

Nico shakes his head, smile still crooked. “Nope, Lee did it. He took out my IV, too.”

“Look at you making progress.” Em’s smiling too as she leans her forearms on the desk. “What can we do for you, Mr. di Angelo?”

“Can I have a cigarette? Please.”

Nico’s request throws me off guard; a small noise escapes from the back of my throat. “I didn’t know you smoke.”

“He doesn’t,” Em says cheekily, pushing herself off the counter. “I thought we were quitting?”

“We are,” Nico replies, his smile changing to a smirk that makes butterflies flap in my stomach. “I haven’t felt up to a smoke in almost two weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll be right back.”

I only have to suffer through about three seconds of awkward silence before Nico lifts his coffee-coloured eyes and stares at me beneath his long eyelashes.

“I, uhm, heard what happened in group therapy yesterday. Are you alright?”

“What, me?” I reach back to not-so-casually scratch my neck while trying to make it look casual, like I’m used to getting assaulted by mentally unstable patients. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.” He clears his throat; I swear I can see a subtle pink hue staining his pale cheeks. “So, uhm, do you like it here so far?”

“So far so good. It’s only been a couple weeks; I don’t really have much to compare it to. The staff are pretty awesome, though.”

“Damn right we are,” Em says, reaching over to hand Nico his long, cylindrical cigarette. “Come on, let’s go.”

Nico’s eyebrows shoot up. “You have to come with me? Are you having one, too?”

Em smirks. “You know I only smoke after gigs. Are we at a gig? No, I’m at work.”

“You don’t have to be such a smartass,” he chuckles. Then he returns his gaze to me, twirling the smoke around his long, bony fingers. “You know about her secret identity, right, Will?”

“You’re going to have to refresh my memory,” I say, my tone coloured by much more flirt than intended. Nico’s whole face erupts in an intense blush.

“You know, psych nurse by day, rock star by night?”

“I am not a rock star,” Em states, slapping her hand down on Nico’s shoulder in attempt to steer him outside.

“How many encores did you do last night?”

“Three, that is irrelevant, Nico.”

“Rock star.” He laughs-gods, Nico laughs and it’s so bright and clear and musical and almost better than the sound of his voice, which is low and deep and sexy…

_Earth to Will!_

My mouth is suddenly bone-dry.

“Do you sing?” I ask Em when my tongue decides to come unglued from the roof of my mouth.

“Like an angel from hell,” Nico answers. “And plays guitar like a boss. That’s how Jason describes her, anyway. He says your cover of “Life Is Beautiful” is, like, the real-deal good shit.”

““Life is Beautiful”?”

Both of them stare at me. “Don’t you know Sixx A.M.?”

I shake my head, feeling foolish. “I grew up in Texas. Unless it’s country music, I’m probably not familiar with it.”

“We’ll fix that.” Em points to her and Nico and then to me, her green eyes burning fiercely. “Come on, Nico. Let’s go before they take away your cigarette privileges.” They walk side-by-side, continuing to bicker about the definition of a rock star.

I let go of a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, resting my hip against my chair. My face continues to feel the blushing heat. My heart is beating a tattoo against my ribcage. The butterflies in my stomach are rifling through a series of loop-de-loops.

Maybe Lou and Cecil are right.

Maybe I do like him.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.


	5. Nico: All You Did Was Saved My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico gets discharged, ready to begin a new chapter in his life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise after this chapter there will be a lot more of the Solangelo relationship! I wanted to get a foundation established first. Thanks for reading!

“Tried to run, but I couldn’t move,  
Well I paid for these concrete shoes.  
But like the singer that sings the blues,  
You saw hope in the hopeless.”

October 22nd

“Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum,  
I’m just a notch in your bedpost, but you’re just a line in a song.  
Drop a heart, and break a name,  
Well we’re sleeping in and sleeping for the wrong team.”

I’m curled up in my bed, nodding my head to the Fall Out Boy song blaring through my headphones, staring at the ceiling. I’ve been like this for a while, allowing my body to relax and my mind to wander, slowly slipping into a space where I’m almost numb. Not the depressed kind of numb, but the kind of numb encompassed by the simplicity of breathing. It’s a tenuous space I struggle to find, always searching for it and trying to form some sort of attachment to it that will permit it from slipping through my fingers when the time comes to return to reality. I don’t hear the knock on my door, only aware of Em’s presence when I hear her sing.

“Is this more than you bargained for yet,  
Oh, don’t mind me, I’m watching you two from the closet,  
Wishing to be the friction in your jeans.”

I pull out my headphones and give her a manageable smile.

Hi, reality.

“I love that song,” Em says, gesturing to my iPod.

“Me, too. Classic Fall Out Boy.” I run my fingers through my hair to push it out of my eyes. “It almost sounds better when you sing it.”

She laughs warmly, sitting on the edge of my bed. “How are you today, Nico? Feeling okay?”

“Yes,” I answer. My lips tingle in temptation to continue. I want to tell her about another night of restful sleep, filled with both romantic and sexual dreams of Will Solace. About how I awoke that morning to find my heart racing, my lips chapped, my groin pleasantly warm…

_Doctor-patient relationships are a big no-no._

“What is it, Nico?”

I blink. “Sorry?”

“You keep sighing.”

“Oh.” I rub my hand over my face. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. What’s up?”

Em stands up, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her purple scrub top. “Are you up for a meeting? Will and Dr. Blofis and I would like to talk to you.”

I narrow my eyes at her, hesitatingly pulling the blankets away from my legs and letting my bare feet hit the cold tile. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, no. No trouble.”

“Then what it is?”

She smiles, but there’s an understated sort of disappointment hiding behind her eyes. “You’ll see. You have nothing to worry about.”

_Easy for you to say._

Em leads me to one of the smaller rooms we use for individual therapy; Will and Dr. Blofis are already seated, both of them wearing black shirts underneath their lab coats. The air smells intoxicating, like sandalwood, chocolate, and pine. I find my eyes drawn to Will, reminded of my series of dreams last night. A warm, tingling sensation starts in my fingertips and crawls through my entirety. Will’s hair still looks damp-it must be his shampoo that smells so good-he recently got a haircut, his once shaggy blonde curls now reduced to soft waves that fall effortlessly styled against his forehead and curl sweetly just past the tops of his ears. It seems to really accentuate the freckles on his cheeks and nose.

Gods, I adore his freckles.

Em sits herself in the empty seat between them. They’re all staring at me and smiling.

“It’s creepy when all of you stare at me like that,” I announce, unable to withhold my opinion.

Dr. Blofis chuckles, the laugh lines around his eyes becoming momentarily prominent. “Sorry, Nico. We did not bring you in here to make you uncomfortable.” He folds his hands together on top of the table. “We are very impressed with the progress you have made, especially within the last month. Would you agree with us?”

I sit back on my hands, his praise making my face flush. “Yeah, I guess I would. It’s been nice getting to sleep through the night without waking up screaming or in a cold sweat, and feeling like I’m going to make it through the day without having to remove myself from the terror of my own mind or harm myself.” I shrug, meeting Em’s eyes and chewing on my thumb cuticle. “It’s nice knowing there are people in the world who understand me. Don’t think I’m some kind of fucked up freak.”

“That’s excellent, Nico,” says Dr. Blofis, not commenting on the fact that I swore. “We’re so glad to hear that. That being said…we feel like you have reached a mindset stable enough to permit us to discharge you.”

I lean forward in my chair. “Discharge? You mean I don’t have to stay here anymore? I can go home?”

“Not freely,” Will answers, his blue eyes twinkling. “Meaning you’ll go home with prescribed anti-depressants, which you are still required to take. Due to your progress, we’ve decided to return to Prozac, the brand you started on. Along with that, we’ve organized bi-weekly therapy sessions with myself and Dr. Blofis, just as a way to monitor you. The frequency of these sessions can be altered depending on how things go.”

“That’s fair,” I agree. My palms are sweaty. I can’t believe I get to go home.

“I am glad you think so.” Will flashes me his crooked grin, the same one he flashed me numerous times last night. “However, there is one problem we still have to sort out.”

I rake my hand through my hair, annoyed with it falling in my eyes. “What problem?”

Will shares a look with Dr. Blofis. “Your mother.”

_Ma? What’s wrong with Ma?_

“What about her?” I question, my breathing becoming uncontrollably laboured. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to her?”

“No, no,” Will says hurriedly, holding up his hands. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then WHAT? What is it?!”

“Nico,” Em soothes. Her hands come across the table in search of mine, which are shaking in my lap. “Calm down. Let’s take three deep breaths together.” She inhales deeply, closing her eyes. I do my best to mimic her, match my breaths to hers. I would never admit this, but sometimes deep breathing with her helps more than my pills.

“I contacted her yesterday,” Will explains once I’m relaxed, “And informed her of your position for discharge. She…she told me now is not a good time for you to return home.”

It feels like someone punched me in the stomach. I frown. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“She claims she is having a harder time coping with the death of your sister since your…absence. She hasn’t been to work in three weeks. She doesn’t think she will be able to handle the responsibility of watching over you while in this state. She can’t handle you in your current situation.”

Will’s voice rings raucously in my ears; I feel like leaning over and vomiting.

“So…she doesn’t want me to come home. Because she can’t deal with me.”

Nobody says anything. They don’t have to.

My fingers curl into clenched fists. I bite my lower lip so hard, I taste blood.

“So, what the fuck am I supposed to do now?! I get to go home, but I can’t go home?! I don’t have anywhere else to go! What the fuck!”

“Nico!” Em’s voice is raised, which causes me to shut up immediately, because she never yells.

“I’m sorry.”

Will rubs the back of his neck, exhaling slowly through his nose. “I understand your frustration, Nico. We have found an alternative solution, if you are willing to listen.”

“And what’s that?” I snap. “I’m not going to live at Jason Grace’s.”

Em shakes her head. “It’s not Jason’s. How would you like to come and live with me?”

I blink; shock rushes over me like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on my head. “What? You want me to…come live with you?”

This time she nods. “Now, before you say anything, I’ve already discussed it with Jax, and he’s completely fine with it. We have a spare bedroom and bathroom.” She pauses, looking down at her lap and running her hand over her bird tattoo.

“That room has been empty for over two years now. And it would be an honour to have someone as deserving as you make it occupied again.”

Will gingerly sets his hand on her elbow; she sniffs and pats it. “I’m okay.”

“Em…” I’m at a loss for words. There’s a new, unfamiliar feeling pulling at my chest, a mix of excitement and nerves and…is that care?

I think it’s care.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I ask her, suddenly self-conscious that she won’t be able to handle all my shit, either. “I mean, you’ll have to deal with me at home.”

“It’s no different than handling you here. It will just be opposite; I won’t see you here, but I’ll see you at home. Where I don’t have to document your progress every morning or give you needles or drag you to group therapy. Instead we’ll get to lay around in regular clothes and binge-watch Netflix and make whatever we want for dinner.

“Besides, you’ll have to put up with my band practices and spontaneous singing.”

“That’s hardly the same thing.”

“How would you know? Our basement is supposedly soundproof, but we can get pretty loud.”

I can’t stop smiling. “I think I can handle it.”

Em’s eyes widen. “So, does that mean yes?”

“Yes.”

She nearly squeals with delight; Will and Dr. Blofis both share similar ecstatic expressions. “Oh, Nico, I could hug you.”

“Please don’t,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest like a barrier.

“Right, right. No physical affection. Sorry.”

“This is wonderful, Nico,” Dr. Blofis exclaims, rising from his chair, a look of sheer confidence glowing on his face. “I will get started right away on your discharge papers. Come, Will, you can give me a hand.”

They exit the room in a line: Dr. Blofis, Em, Will. I take a deep breath.

“Will?”

He stops, turns his azure blue eyes on me. “Yes, Nico?”

I point awkwardly at the phone sitting on the desk. “Is it alright if I make a phone call? I want to call Jason.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Of course. I’ll get Em to stand outside the door, okay?”

“Sure.”

The phone rings three times before Piper answers in a slightly warbled voice: “Grace-Mclean residence.”

“Hey, Piper. It’s Nico. Is Jason around?”

“Nico?” Her voice sounds far away; there’s a big bang and a click. “Sorry.” That’s better. “Stupid phone. Jason is still sleeping, are you okay?”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “I’m fine. More than fine, actually. I just found out I get to go home.”

Unlike Em, Piper has no problem expressing her excitement by squealing so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Jesus, Piper. It’s too early for that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she gasps. “Hang on, I have to go wake up Jason, he needs to hear this.” I can hear her running down the small hallway in their apartment and the bedroom door being thrown open carelessly; it bounces off the wall with a loud CLUNK.

“Jason, hun, wake up! Wake up, you’ve got to hear this!”

Jason groans loudly. “What the hell, Pipes? What’s going on?”

“It’s Nico.” There’s another beep. “Nico, you’re on speaker phone. Tell Jason what you just told me.”

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” I tease, knowing full-well how bad Jason’s bedhead can be in the morning. “Sorry for disturbing you, but I just found out I get to go home today.”

“Dude!” Jason exclaims, now sounding wide awake, “That’s awesome! I’m so happy for you! I bet you’re so excited.”

I stall, chewing on my thumbnail. “Uhm…not exactly.” I proceed to replay them the conversation from earlier, purposefully discarding the part where I refuse to stay with them and leaving out Em’s offer. When I stop talking, I’m met with uncomfortable silence.

“Shit, Neeks,” Jason sighs after a few lengthy seconds. “That’s so…I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell him, and I mean it, because there’s an itchy feeling in my throat that only occurs right before I’m about to start crying. “Please don’t say anything.”

“Okay. So what are you gonna do? I mean, I’d let you stay here, but we really don’t have the room.”

“That’s fine. I’m going to stay with Em for a while. She offered me her spare bedroom.”

Jason lets out this low, sultry whistle, almost like a catcall. “Gonna have a little sleepover with your nurse, are we?”

I roll my eyes and can imagine Piper rolling hers. “Jason, you do realize I’m gay, right?”

He ignores me. “Find out what kind of underwear she wears!”

“Get your head out of your ass, man. You’re disgusting. And your girlfriend is sitting right next to you!”

“I might have to confess to a small woman-crush,” Piper admits sheepishly. “I can’t explain it, but I can’t help it, either.”

I shake my head at them. “She’s standing outside the door right now. Would you like me to step out and inform her of all your perverted fantasies?”

“Hey,” Piper’s tone has adapted to something rather defensive, “No one said anything about fantasies.”

“Guys,” I sigh, mustering up my most patient voice, “She’s become more than just my nurse. She reminds me of Bianca. That irreplaceable hole she left doesn’t seem so big, so empty anymore. Please don’t do anything that could mess it up. I mean it.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Jason huffs. “You’re right, Neeks. We’ll be good, promise. If there’s anything we can do, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Thanks,” I say, genuinely grateful I have them in my life. “I should probably go, phone calls are limited to fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling us. Love you, man.”

“Yeah, you guys too. I’ll let you know when I get…back.”

I can’t bring myself to say home. Not yet.

* * *

Em would drive a run-down truck.

Okay, it’s technically a Jeep, not a truck. A bright yellow Jeep Rubicon.

“Are you laughing at my wheels?”

I unshoulder my backpack, which contains all of three shirts, a pair of jeans and sweatpants, a toothbrush and deodorant stick, unsuccessfully stifling laughter behind my hand. “I’m trying really hard not to.”

Em throws her purse into the backseat and gestures for me to do the same with my bag. She clambers into the driver’s seat and I in the passengers; the interior is all black, impeccably clean, and smells like perfume.

“Make fun all you want, but I bought this car with my own money when I was seventeen, and it’s perfect for gigs. The back holds all of our equipment.” Em starts the car and immediately I’m blasted with the sound of drums and guitars and a rough voice just shy of screaming.

“Shit!” she swears, hurriedly adjusting the volume knob. “Sorry, I forget about that all the time.”

“It’s fine. I’m not old, I don’t complain about volume. Who was it?”

“Papa Roach.”

I reach for the knob and turn it up again, not quite as loud as before. “I love Papa Roach.”

Em smiles. It’s surprisingly warm outside for the end of October, so she rolls down the windows and we belt out all the words to “Gravity”, “Scars” and “Getting Away With Murder”.

We drive downtown for about twenty minutes before Em turns down a residential street and pulls up in front of a townhouse. The upper level is shadowed in darkness, but the first level has an array of brightly lit windows.

“Well,” she says slowly, her eyes searching to meet mine, “This is it. We’re home.”

_Home._

Nope, not yet.

The house smells like lavender and clean laundry. Em hangs up my jacket for me, tells me where to leave my shoes and beckons me to follow her up the stairs to the main level. When we reach the top, I see a living room and small dining area; there’s a delicious spicy smell wafting from the kitchen.

“Jax?” Em calls.

“Here, baby.” He comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on the apron he’s wearing.

Yes, he’s wearing an apron.

They exchange hellos, hugs and a kiss; Em formerly introduces me to him and we shake hands. Jax’s grip is firm, his hands slightly rough and calloused. “Welcome, Nico,” he says with an easy, relaxed smile. I pick up the smallest trace of an accent in his voice, British maybe? “It’s so nice to finally meet you, I’ve already heard so much about you. Em and I are happy to have you. I hope you’re hungry?”

I nod, hoping neither of them hear the growling noises bubbling from my stomach. “I’m starving. I don’t know what you’re making, man, but it smells so damn good.”

Jax laughs. “It’s jambalaya, nothing fancy. Come in, make yourself comfortable. Look around, touch whatever you want. If you’re looking for something and can’t find it, just ask.”

Em excuses herself to run upstairs and change out of her scrubs; I follow Jax into the kitchen, trying to look everywhere at once, let every detail soak into my brain.

Now that I’m closer to him, I decide Jax doesn’t really resemble Cole Sprouse. He’s tall-if I had to guess, six-feet-with a shock of dark chocolate hair that looks like it took forever to style, but probably only took five minutes, and pale blue eyes magnified behind thick-framed hipster glasses. His jaw structure is sharp enough to grate cheese on. He’s got cheekbones most girls would die for.

Actually, he kind of looks like Andrew Garfield, back when he was Spider-Man.

In a word, the guy is gorgeous.

I mean, seriously? What kind of guy can pull off dark washed jeans, a navy blue long-sleeved shirt and an apron?

_I bet Will could._

Em comes back, setting her hands on my shoulders, breaking my Will thoughts by asking if I want a tour. I shrug and say “sure”, leaving Jax to his cooking and letting Em drag me all around the house. She shows me the basement last, which has basically been converted into a huge music room, complete with a full-size acoustic drum set, a wall lined with four guitars-two electric and two acoustic-and a baby grand piano. Three microphone stands are pushed against the farthest wall next to a stack of amplifiers.

“Holy shit,” I gasp, my mouth hanging open. “This is unbelievable.”

“This space was pretty much the deciding factor for us buying the place. Aidan really wanted something big enough to house his piano.”

I look over at her, watching her fingers ghost over the piano keys without playing any notes. “You and he bought this house?”

She nods. “Yeah, right after I graduated high school. The apartment wasn’t cutting it anymore.” Her shoulders heave up and down in a sigh. “I miss that apartment sometimes. All its happy memories.”

I can tell she’s about to get sad, which I suck at, so I’m relieved when I hear Jax yell down the stairs: “Hey, guys, dinner’s ready. I don’t really want to eat by myself.”

Em puts on a smile and reaches for my hand. “Come on. Let’s go eat something that didn’t come out of a box.”

 

The jambalaya tastes even better than it smells.

The three of us find a space to sit in the living room, Jax and Em together on the couch and me in an armchair big enough to fit all three of us. It’s pretty quiet for the first few minutes, all of us stuffing our faces with chicken, shrimp, rice, and vegetables and staring at the playoff baseball game on TV.

“Sorry we can’t sit at the table,” Em says suddenly, licking the back of her spoon. “ _Somebody_ has covered it with textbooks; I haven’t seen the tablecloth in almost two months.”

Jax smirks, playfully nudging her shoulder. “You said you didn’t like them all over our bed!”

“Are you still in school?” I ask between bites of my second helping. “What are you taking?”

“I got accepted into MIT right out of high school, and I have a master’s degree in chemistry. Now I’m at NYU taking my doctorate, specializing in bio chemistry. I want to work for the Centre for Disease Control as part of their research team.”

_Fuck. Gorgeous AND smart. Way to go, Em_.

“Wow,” I muse, seriously impressed. “Good for you.”

“What about you?”

The question is innocent, unknowing, but my fingers still turn heavy as lead. “Oh, uhm…I don’t really have college plans. I mean, I did, I wanted to go to art school, but ever since my…yeah. I don’t know. Nothing yet.”

Panic is rising hard and fast in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate for the remembrance to breathe, to forget the feeling of that blade on my skin, of the sight of blood trickling down my palm, of the brightness of those headlights…

_No. No, you were doing so good, Nico, don’t do this…_

BANG.

_No._

“Come on, Nico. Open your eyes. It’s okay, don’t let it get to you. You’re okay. Open your eyes, Nico. You’ll see.”

I force myself into a pattern of ragged inhales and exhales, opening my eyes only when the painful visions of my past have cleared. Em is kneeling in front of me, her hands out where I can see them though not physically touching me. Jax is beside her, holding a large glass of water.

“You’re not in that place anymore,” Em assures softly. “It doesn’t have to be like that. Everything is okay. We’re here. We’re _stronger_ than that place, Nico. I…We know it.”

I nod slowly. “I’m sorry.” My voice sounds thick and raspy. “Can I have that water?”

Jax hands it to me, his brow furrowed worriedly. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to…”

I hold up my hand, downing the glass in two big gulps. “No apologies. You didn’t know. Hell, I didn’t know. I thought the triggers had stopped.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Em says, seemingly addressing both of us. Her eyes turn very nurse-like as she scans my face. “Are you okay now?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

I think for a second before answering her. “Actually, I think I’m just going to take my pills and go to bed, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah of course. Yell if you need something. Sleep well.”

My room is painted the same light grey shade as Em and Jax’s room; it’s accented by splashes of blue here and there, in the throw pillows, the rug, the lampshade. There’s a queen-size bed, desk, matching dresser and nightstand. It’s the most comfortable room I’ve been in in a long time.

I quickly change into an old t-shirt and brush my teeth, taking my pill with a mouthful of water before I climb into bed. Burrowing deep into the warm, soft blankets, I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

 

The clock beside my bed reads just past nine-thirty AM by the time I roll over and open my eyes. It takes a minute for my brain to register where I am, why the bed I’m curled up in is so comfortable, why the sheets smell so fresh. I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling, drinking in the eeriness of the quiet morning, not having to listen to squeaky nurse’s shoes or the TV blaring in the common area.

I manage to pull myself up, yank on sweats and brush my teeth. Em’s bedroom door is half-open; I hear no indication of anyone downstairs.

I think the most refreshing thing is the smell of coffee in the kitchen, rather than the old eggs and stale syrup I’m used to. There’s an unused cup waiting for me by the half-full coffee pot, along with two notes, one for Em and one for me.

My love,  
I have a night class after work today, so I won’t be home until around 2300. Don’t wait up for me. You need to sleep. ENJOY your day off and your time with Nico. There’s leftovers from last night for supper. I love you so much!  
JJ xo

Good morning Nico,  
I hope you slept well. I’m not sure if you’re a coffee drinker, but I set out a cup for you anyway. The sugar is right next to the stove and there’s cream in the fridge if you want. Also, if you wake up and can’t find Em, don’t panic. She’s probably downstairs. I am glad you’re here. See you later.  
Jax

Wow.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, adding enough cream to just barely lighten it. Then I follow Jax’s advice and pad downstairs.

The door is shut; I press my ear against it, hearing sound.

Em is sitting at the piano bench, her fingers spanning the keys, playing a gradual melodic tune, her body swaying back and forth to the music. She’s singing too, softly, her voice blending perfectly.

“Yeah, when my world is falling apart,  
When there’s no light to break up the dark,  
that’s when I, I look at you.

When the waves are flooding the shore,  
And I can’t find my way home anymore,  
That’s when I, I look at you.”

I don’t dare interrupt her. Instead, I lean against the doorframe and close my eyes, letting the song wash over me like a warm shower. I don’t move until she stops playing, leans back on the bench, staring at the framed photographs sitting on top of the instrument.

“That was beautiful.”

To my surprise, Em doesn’t jump. She shifts her body in my direction, twisting herself so she’s straddling the piano bench. She brings her arms up high over her head in a long, deep stretch.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” I say, stepping into the room. “Did you know I was standing there?”

She nods. “I heard you upstairs in the kitchen.”

“Oh.” I take a small pull on my coffee, savouring every bit of its rich deliciousness. “Does Jax always leave you notes?”

Em scoots back, giving me room to sit beside her. She grabs her own mug, wrapping her thin, nimble fingers around it. “On my days off, yeah. Or when I work nights. I leave way before he does when I work days, so then I’m the one who leaves a note.”

“That’s nauseatingly adorable, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know. Did you sleep okay?”

I nod. “Better than I have in a long time. Even better than what I considered good nights in the hospital.”

Now that I’m closer, I get a better look at the pictures on the piano; there’s two of them, one on either end of the keys. The one on my left is Aidan, dressed in a bright blue jersey and black shorts, holding a hockey stick in one hand while clamping a gold medal in between his teeth. His hair is wet with sweat, sticking out all over the place.

“Ball hockey tournament,” Em explains, as though she read my mind. “Scored the game-winning goal. Three months before he died. You wouldn’t know he was so sick just from looking at that picture, would you?”

I shake my head, unable to bring myself to form proper words.

“That’s why I like that picture. It reminds me of the time we had hope. Where we thought things were maybe going to take a turn.” She blows out a frustrated breath. “Don’t ever apologize for how you feel about losing your sister, Nico. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not allowed to feel sad without her because she’s been gone for “this long”. Aidan’s been gone almost two and a half years, and there are still days where I can’t bring myself to get out of bed, or look at his picture without bursting into tears.”

“People actually say you’re not allowed to be sad after a certain period of time?”

Em rolls her eyes. “You’d be surprised the kind of shit people will tell you. Easy for them to say though. It wasn’t their family.”

“Yeah.” The other picture is of Em and Jax. They’re snuggled together on what I can only assume is a bed, because the picture is so close up I can’t tell, Em lying on Jax’s shoulder. Her eyes are mostly closed and she’s laughing; Jax is wearing his laid-back smile, his face resting against her curly hair. It’s one of those photos that is both candid and posed, perfect and imperfect.

“Jax took that,” Em tells me. “I had no idea. We were lying in bed one day talking about random shit and he told me this really stupid joke. Then, the next day he sent me a text with this picture and “I love you <3”.”

I unwillingly scoff, shaking my head in mock disappointment. “So nauseating.”

“Oh, whatever, mister. So, what would you like to do today?”

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. What do you want to do?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind putting our binge-watching Netflix plan into action.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She jumps up and I follow her back upstairs. “Have you seen _The Walking Dead_?”

“Only the first season,” I admit, wondering why the hell that makes me blush. “Bianca and I used to watch it together. I’ve had a tough time getting back into it.”

“Would you be willing to try and watch it with me?”

I shrug again. “I don’t see why not.”

 

So that’s what we do. All day. The only time either of us take breaks are to pee, shower, or eat.

Suddenly it’s pushing ten P.M. Em and I are halfway through season three; we’re sharing the couch, curled up on opposite ends, but our legs are bent at an angle that allows us to have our feet touching. There’s a soft blanket draped carelessly over our legs, and we’re both drinking Em’s famous hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cinnamon.

I won’t lie. I’ve had to catch myself a couple times, refrain from calling her Bianca.

It’s comforting knowing she’s here. She’s so present in such a non-sexual way. Maybe things would be different if I liked girls, if I found her sexually attractive on any level, but I don’t. All she’s doing is sitting here, and that’s all I need her to do.

“Em?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know it was supposed to be Jax?”

Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Like, how did you know you were supposed to be with him?”

A sort of dreamy look glazes over in her eyes; she puts down her drink and properly sits up.

“Have you ever been in love, Nico?”

I bite back chuckles. “What does that have to do with it, Em?”

“Just answer the question. I’ll explain.”

I scratch the side of my nose as I think, seriously think. “I’ve had a few crushes, but no, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”

“Let me tell you what it’s like.”

I groan, tempted to throw the pillow behind me at her. “I thought I was only supposed to go to therapy every two weeks!”

“This isn’t therapy!” she insists. “I promise. This is friendly advice. Besides, you asked!”

I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay, fair enough. I’m listening.”

“Being in love is like being on a rollercoaster. Cliché analogy, I know, but it works. It has its ups and downs; sometimes it’s the best ride of your entire life and other times you’re screaming at the top of your lungs, terrified and just begging to get off. During those times, it’s really tough to do anything except want to jump out of the cart and save yourself. That’s okay. However, if you jump off the ride, you might miss the best part. And if that happens, then you might as well have not gotten on it at all. How would you know what kind of ride it was if you didn’t even get on it? For lots of people, getting on is the hardest part. But once they’re on, at least they can say they tried, even if they hate it by the time the ride is over.

“Rides are scary, Nico. They’re terrifying as fuck, actually. But I would much rather face my fear in order to have the best time of my life than let my fears beat me and have no idea about the experiences I could have gone through.

“Some people will hate the ride, hate every bit of the experience they had on it. And that’s okay. It just means that ride wasn’t for them; they have to find the ride that suits them.

“Jax is both the thrill and the seatbelt of my ride. You know, the rush you get when you hit that huge drop or go around the loop, all while that metal bar is holding you in place? We met my last day of high school, four years ago. He was there for me throughout every aspect of my brother’s illness. He was there for me when Aidan died, when I became so depressed I wanted to die. He was there throughout my treatment, making sure I was given what I needed in order to get better. He’s been nothing but supportive with my career choice, all while trying to keep on top of his. He’s so much like me, while at the same time we’re such opposites. We both have such a passion for music. We’re both ugly criers. I’m so glad he loves to cook because I can’t stand it. I couldn’t care less if there are dirty clothes all over our bedroom floor, but it drives him nuts. We just…click. He’s worth every single up and down on my ride.

“I can’t really say if I instantly knew this was the ride I was meant to get on. I just know it’s the ride I want to stay on. Does that make sense?”

I nod, taking a long pull on my hot chocolate and running my hand absentmindedly over the softness of the blanket. “You guys are so lucky,” I murmur. “You’re like poster people for the perfect couple.”

Em laughs kindly, stretching her foot out to poke my shin with her toe. “We’ve had our moments. Nobody’s perfect, Nico.”

“You’re pretty damn close.”

She rolls her eyes and clicks on the next episode of the show. “Is there a particular reason why you asked me that? Something on your mind?”

_Yes._

“No,” I lie.

Em’s eyes narrow; in the dimness of the living room, they seem more grey than green. “Okay.”

_You’re not a patient anymore_ , a little voice inside my head nags. _There’s nothing wrong with it. Just ask her about him._

_Shut up,_ I tell it.


	6. Will: You and Tequila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to write a summary for this chapter because I couldn't come up with one that was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mentions of drinking, smoking, and usage of discriminating slurs.
> 
> This chapter is very long, almost excessively long. I'm almost sorry for how long it is. As always, thank you so much for reading!

“You and tequila make me crazy,  
You run like poison in my blood.  
One more night could kill me, baby,  
One is one too many, one more is never enough.”

“Got any plans for Halloween, Will?”

I pull off my work shoes, exchanging them for my heavy boots. Despite it only being the end of October, the weather has turned bitterly cold over the last week.

“Eh, not really,” I answer, zipping my jacket up to my chin. “I’ve never really gotten into the concept of Halloween. Even as a kid, my mom would try to dress me up and take me trick-or-treating but it never interested me. The idea of going up to strangers’ doorsteps and begging for candy seemed redundant. Plus, if it was too cold you had to bundle up to keep warm and then nobody could tell what your costume was.”

Em chuckles as she wraps a knit scarf around her neck. “You’ve been too old to trick-or-treat for years now,” she points out. “Now Halloween is the time to get dressed up and go to a random party, where you get stupid drunk and play dumb college party games like Truth or Dare or Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Not into that either.” I hold the door open for her and we make our way through the cold to the staff parking lot. “I’m actually quite lame. Ask any of my friends.”

“I don’t think you’re lame.”

“Okay, any of my friends minus you.”

Em stops in front of her bright yellow Jeep, extracting her keys from her purse. “Hey, you should come to our gig on Friday night. We’re playing at a rock club downtown.”

I stamp my feet, trying hard to keep warm. “You want me, a country boy from Texas, to come to one of your rock shows?”

“Yeah! I think you would have fun, you don’t have to be some kind of punk boy to have fun at a rock concert. I’m trying to convince Nico to come, too.”

At the mention of Nico’s name, my ears perk up and my heart skips a beat. “Really? Do you think he will?”

She lifts her shoulders. “Probably, if I ask him enough times.”

“How…how has he been at home?”

A spark highlights a few gold flecks in Em’s emerald irises. She tucks her chin into her scarf like she’s trying to mask the grin spreading across her face. “He’s good. It’s cute to watch the way he’s bonded with Jax. I’ll often come home to find them cooking dinner together or sitting at the table attempting to memorize all the uses for stem cells.”

A warm, happy feeling ripples through my chest. “That’s great.” The next sentence slips past my lips before I have a chance to stop it. “It’s weird not having him as a patient. I kind of miss him sometimes.”

_Oh my gods, Will. Are you dumb? You might as well write I LIKE HIM on your forehead!_

If Em picks up on the huge bomb I just mistakenly dropped, she doesn’t acknowledge it. Not directly, anyway.

“If I get Nico to come, will you come?” she asks instead, the smiling on her face transforming into a sneaky smirk.

_YES!_

“I mean, maybe,” I stammer, inwardly screaming curse words at my brain for not allowing me to at least appear put together. “I’ll think about it. Let me know what he says?”

“I’ve got a better idea. Remind me tomorrow to give you his number. You can ask him yourself.”

Something about her tone makes me very nervous, like she’s hiding something or she knows something I don’t. I exhale, my breath turned to vapour by the cold.

“Uhm, yeah, sure. That works.”

“Awesome.” Her smile has returned to normal. “I’m gonna get going, it’s cold as shit. See you tomorrow, Will.”

“Yeah, see you.”

 

Cecil and Lou have invaded my living room again when I get home the next day, Nico’s number written in Em’s neat printing on a slip of paper tucked away in my scrub pocket. This time I can smell food, which probably means my kitchen is a disaster.

“Hi, guys.”

“Dr. Delicious!” Cecil greets, holding out his palm for a high-five. “How was the loony bin today?”

I slap his palm weakly and sit on the arm of the couch. “Cecil, how many times have I asked you not to call me Dr. Delicious? Or call my place of residency the loony bin?”

“A few. If you don’t want me to call you Dr. Delicious, then you shouldn’t be so attractive. And I don’t think I need to remind you that you spend all day with the mentally ill.”

I shake my head. “No, you don’t.”

“What about the Nico situation?” Lou asks, not taking her eyes off the television. “Any progress with that?”

“Actually…” I remove the slip of paper and hold it over my knee to smooth out the wrinkles. Lou rips her eyes away from the screen.

“Oh my gods! Is that a phone number I see?”

“Yes,” I say, feeling my face burn. “Em wants me to come to her gig on Friday, and she’s convincing Nico to come; she’s got it in her head that I’ll go if he goes.”

“You will, won’t you?”

“Of course, Lou, I’m not an idiot.”

“So text him and ask him to go with you!”

I press the heel of my hand against my eye socket. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy!” Lou insists, beckoning for my phone. “Here, let me show you.”

“Oh, no,” I deny, standing up and holding Nico’s number above my head where she can’t reach it. “I’ll do it.”

**Hey Nico. It’s Will, Will Solace. I got your number from Em. I hope that’s okay…?**

About two minutes later, my phone pings; I nearly leap out of my skin.

_It’s fine, Solace. Em told me she gave it to you. What’s up?_

“Don’t ask him right away,” Cecil says, reading the texts over my shoulder. “That makes you sound eager. Nobody likes eager. Trust me.”

“For once he’s right, Will,” Lou agrees. “Make conversation first.”

**Not much. I just got home from work. How are you doing?**

_Fine, thanks. You? How’s work?_

**Work’s fine. I’m fine. How do you like living with Em and Jax?**

_It’s good. Better than the hospital I guess lol._

**That’s good. :)**

_Yeah.._

**So… Em asked me to come to her gig on Friday night.**

_I know, she’s trying to get me to come too._

**Are you gonna go? I mean… do you want to go?**

It takes a while for Nico to reply this time. With every minute that passes, my heart pounds harder in my chest. I’ve convinced myself I’ve already blown it when my phone starts ringing. I glance at the call display.

It’s Nico.

“Holy shit!” I jump up, phone clattering to the floor. “Guys, help, he’s calling me! What do I do?!”

Lou picks my phone up and slaps it back in my hand. “Answer it, dummy! Before it goes to voicemail!”

Clearing my throat, I shakily hit ACCEPT. “Hello?”

“Are you trying to ask me on a date, Will?”

The abruptness of Nico’s question catches me completely off-guard. I raise panicked eyes at Lou, who makes a wild keep going gesture with her hands.

“Uhm…no? I was just wondering if you wanted to go.”

“I don’t date, Will,” Nico says, his voice low and slightly raspy. “Let’s get that clear right now.”

“I’m not asking about a date,” I say. “I’m asking about two people going to the same location at the same time to support their mutual friend. I would like to go to Em’s show, but her music isn’t my typical style, and it would be nice to go with someone I actually know. Someone who actually does like that music.”

“That music,” Nico repeats with a hint of mockery in his voice. “You make it sound like it’s some sort of communicable disease.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He starts to say something else, cut off by Jax’s voice hollering for him in the background.

“Yo, Nico! Wanna come help me run through equations before we eat?”

“Hang on, Will. Yeah! I’ll be right down! Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him.

He sighs, leaving this pause of awkward silence between us. “I guess it would be alright if we went together,” he decides after moments of me holding my breath, anticipating an answer. “I think Jason and Piper are going, too. Are you cool with that?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, ignoring the disappointed drop in my stomach. “That’s cool.”

“But this is not a date.”

“No,” I confirm. “Just two friends going to support another friend.”

“Right. Do you think you could drive? It’s downtown, and I don’t have a car. Em said I could go with her and Jax, but they have to be there an hour and a half early for setup and sound checks.”

“Sure. I like driving. What time should I pick you up?”

Nico hums, thinking. “Em said they don’t go on until ten, but trying to find a parking space might be a nightmare, so… around nine?”

I nod my head, mentally reminding myself how to breathe. “That works.”

“Cool. I’ll text you the address. I gotta go, though, I have to help Brain Boy with some biochemical math.”

“Okay, have fun. I’ll…see you on Friday, then.”

“Yeah. Bye, Solace.”

“Bye, Nico.” There’s a click, and he’s gone.

I stare at my phone in my hand, my mind forcefully clinging to every aspect of that phone call so I won’t forget it. Lou and Cecil stand in front of me, staring, patiently waiting for me to say something.

“Well…I guess I’m going out Friday night.”

They whoop with glee, tackling me on both sides with strong hugs.

“Will’s got a date!” Cecil sing-songs, picking Lou up in his arms and swinging her around.

“It’s not a date!”

“Sure it’s not,” he drawls, rolling his eyes. “You’re only picking him up and taking him out to a club where you’re going to drink and dance together.”

“He says he doesn’t date, Cecil,” I inform him, praying I’ll be able to get that concept through his thick skull so he’ll stop giving me a hard time. “How did you even find out Nico was gay?”

He smirks. “I may have had an on-the-down-low conversation with Em about setting you two up. It’s not like you were going to do anything on your own.”

“How do you know?”

“Uhm, because we’ve been friends for almost eight years? I know how you are when it comes to jumpstarting a relationship.”

“What part of “he doesn’t date” do you not understand?”

“The doesn’t part.” Cecil thumps me gently upside the head. “You can get him to change his mind!”

“Cecil,” I say, not withholding the frustration in my voice, “As much as I appreciate all of your pro-dating advice, I really don’t want to fuck this up. Okay? Do you understand that? I need to take this one step at a time, no matter how tiny those steps are.”

“Okay, okay. I understand. You’re right. What is the first step, then?”

I scratch the back of my head. “Finding something rock-and-roll to wear.”

 

I settle on the pair of darkest jeans I own, the ones with a hole in the knee, a white AC/DC shirt I discover stuffed at the back of my dresser drawer and a leather jacket I have to borrow from Cecil, which is about a half-size too small. I use some styling gel in my hair to try and tame my wild curls; it somehow makes it wilder, which I decide to give up on fixing and embrace it, because I think rock stars are supposed to have messy hair. Add a pair of black converse hi-tops and I call it good.

I hope Nico thinks so.

He’s sitting on the front step when I pull up to Em’s townhouse. In the shadows of the porchlight, he looks dark, mysterious, and handsome.

“Hey, Solace.”

“Hey.” I turn down the radio once he gets into my car, immediately surrounded by the smell of whatever cologne he’s wearing. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. Are you?” His espresso eyes scan me up and down. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks, it was just something I threw together.”

Nico’s eyebrows shoot up skeptically. “Sure, Solace. Whatever makes you happy.”

We make small talk during the drive, but it seems somewhat forced, like sitting in a silent car would be too uncomfortable for either of us to bear. Despite it being Friday night, traffic isn’t totally horrible; we make it to the venue in twenty minutes as opposed to the suspected forty.

“ _The Devil’s Crown_ ,” I muse, staring up at the red neon sign above a chain-ridden entrance. “Classy.”

Nico barely brings himself to laugh, hunching his shoulders in his half-size-too-big black aviator jacket. “I’m guessing you’ve never been here before.”

I shake my head, following him to join the long line of people waiting to get into the club. The air already smells like weed and cigarettes. “I’ve never even heard of this place.”

“Before you freak, let me give you some advice. Don’t let its exterior fool you, the inside is actually really clean. It’s one of the most popular rock clubs in New York; the bar serves almost thirty different types of booze and supposedly has the best whiskey.”

I raise one eyebrow. “Supposedly?”

He shrugs. “I’m not into whiskey. I’d rather drink tequila.”

_Gross._

“You don’t like tequila, do you?”

I scoff, nervously rubbing my elbows. “’Course I do. Tequila…yum.”

“Then why are you making a face like you just sucked on a lime, sans the salt and shot?”

“Oh…uhm…”

Nico laughs for real this time. “You’re cute, Solace. Do you even drink?”

“Of course!” I protest. “I enjoy the occasional light beer.”

“Oh, you’re such a rebel.” Nico’s eyes meet mine, full of tease and flirt, making my stomach explode with butterflies. “Have you ever been drunk?”

I nod, accidentally brushing against him as we inch closer to the door. “Lots of times.” The stare he’s giving me is so blank. “Okay, twice.”

He whistles, fake impressed. “Wow. And here I thought you were some goody-two-shoes medical resident.”

“It’s never really been my thing,” I defend. The line behind us has stretched all the way down the block. “I was always too busy studying.”

“Then I think you’re due to cut loose,” Nico says, craning his neck to see how much farther we’ve got to go. I’m showered by glimpses of music every time the door opens. “You don’t have to work tomorrow. Who cares?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll make you change your mind.” There’s that flirtatious tone. I’m suddenly aware of how close his hand is to mine. “You came out tonight, after all.”

“You should be proud of yourself,” I tell him.

His lips purse. “Why’s that?”

I can’t hold back my grin. “I don’t go out with just anyone.”

Nico blushes so hard I can see it clearly in the dark. “This isn’t a date, Will.”

“I’m aware,” I say. “I’m just saying.”

He kicks the ground with the toe of his boot, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath. We don’t talk until we get to the front of the line-which thankfully isn’t much longer-flash the large bouncer our IDs and head in.

The place is already jam-packed; Nico was right, the inside definitely does not match the outside.

Inside smells like medleys of cologne and perfume mixed with the tiniest bit of sweat. A huge stage is set up just to the right of the door illuminated by simple yellow lights, already donned with a massive drum set, two sets of stack amplifiers, three microphone stands and two guitars propped against their holders. The entire back wall holds home to the longest bar I’ve ever seen, crowded by bodies. Two side walls are plastered from top to bottom with posters of all kinds of rock bands, from album covers to photoshoot shots to tour posters. The dance floor is basically the size of the whole place excluding the bar; people are bumping and grinding to the Def Leppard-thanks for that, Nico-song blaring through the speakers, brightened by alternating red, green, and blue lights.

Nico pulls on my arm, looking up from his phone. “Jason and Piper are already here,” he says, able to speak over the music without having to shout right in my ear. “Let’s go find them and get a drink.”

We drop our coats off at the small coat check station in the corner and set out in search of Jason and Piper. After a few minutes of squeezing in between strangers and saying “excuse me” every five seconds, we find them glued to the bar, drinks already in hand.

“Hey!” Jason exclaims the moment he sees us. “You made it!” He pulls Nico into an unwilling hug which Nico does not return and gives me a fist bump, which I do return. “Will, you remember my girlfriend, Piper, right?”

I nod. “Hey, Piper. It’s nice to see you again.”

Piper smiles, her multi-coloured eyes a kaleidoscope beneath the flashing lights. “You too, Will. I bet Em is so stoked you guys are here. Are you excited for the show?”

“I am,” I answer sincerely, to see Em perform, not for the sole purpose of being out with Nico di Angelo. “I probably won’t know anything they play, but that’s okay. Nico had to tell me this was Def Leppard.”

“You’re wearing an AC/DC shirt, but you don’t know Def Leppard?”

I shrug helplessly. “Apparently not.”

“We’ll forgive you for that,” Nico assures, flipping his gaze back and forth between me and the bartender. “What do you want to drink? I’ll buy the first round.”

I glance at Jason, who’s holding a Corona, and Piper, who’s got what looks like a cosmopolitan. “Uh, I’ll just have a Corona I guess. Yes to the lime.”

Jason nods his approval. “Are you gonna get crazy tonight, Will? I haven’t seen you drunk since our senior year.”

I shrug, thanking Nico when he hands me my drink. “Nico claims I should, but I haven’t decided yet. I am the one who drove.”

“Ah, man.” Piper shakes her head. “You’re supposed to take a cab. Then nobody has to behave.”

My response to her simple yet brilliant point is interrupted by a spontaneous roar from the crowd on the dance floor. My eyes train to the stage where Em has just stepped out, wearing tight skinny jeans, a loose-fitting tank top and shoes so high they look like torture devices. She’s holding a black-as-night guitar that’s almost as big as she is.

“Is the show starting?” I ask, admittedly a little confused. I was expecting some sort of grand entrance.

“Nah.” Jason tips his head back and finishes his beer. “She’s just doing a tune-up. Crowd always goes nuts when she comes out because, well, look at her.”

Piper lifts herself onto her tiptoes, kissing Jason on the cheek. “You’ll have to excuse him. We go to almost all of their shows, he’s kind of obsessed.”

“Oh, like you aren’t.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” she says. “Jax is just as hot.”

Next to me, Nico groans. “Guys, you do realize I live with both of them, right? There are times I can hear them having sex. They’re about as together as two people can get.”

I cringe; to my horror, Jason and Piper do not. Instead, they share this pointed look that makes me not want to think about the nasty things running through their minds.

Jax walks on stage now; the screaming continues, significantly impacted by the population of females in the bar. He sets his hand on Em’s shoulder. She nods, getting up to put her guitar down in its own stand, an act that requires her to turn around and bend over.

This time it’s all guys. Em’s head snaps sideways to give them a dirty look; Jax pulls her into his arms and kisses her passionately, tongue and everything. His hands expertly slide down her back, clasping her ass. It’s better than him giving the entire crowd the middle finger.

Jason looks uneasy while Nico, Piper, and myself all burst out laughing.

“Happens all the time,” Piper giggles. “Come on, let’s top up our drinks and find a spot. The show’s gonna start soon.”

 

We manage to snag a spot right near the front of the stage, barricaded from getting any closer by a thick rope and a burly security guard. Jason grabs another beer and a cosmo for Piper; Nico is double-fisted with tequila and Coke, and I’m surprisingly on my second beer. Everyone around us is buzzing.

Until all of the lights go out.

For a moment, it’s deadly quiet.

And then Em starts to sing.

“In the end, as you fade into the night,  
Who will tell the story of your life?”

Her voice is deep, gravelly, powerful. Something I would never expect to come out of her mouth based on the way she talks. Flashing lights bring the entire stage to life; the band begins to play and the crowd goes insane.

There’s four of them up there: Em front and center, jamming on her guitar; a guy on either side of her, one also playing guitar, the other plucking a bass; Jax is behind them, pounding on his drum set.

Beside me, Nico is slamming back one of his drinks in between belting out the lyrics to the song. He gives me an expecting look; I lift my shoulders hopelessly, as I predicted I have no idea what song it is.

““In The End”!” Nico shouts, now necessary in order to be heard. “Black Veil Brides! I love this song!”

“Clearly!”

They go straight into another one before taking a break to address the screaming fans. As Em takes a drink from a water bottle, Nico informs me it was “Sound of Madness” by Shinedown.

Good to know. I liked that one.

“What’s up, motherfuckers?”

Em’s inquiry is met by nothing but shouting. She pulls a couple strings on her guitar, a melodic note ringing through her amp. “How’s everybody doing tonight?”

“Whooooo!” we yell back at her.

“Awesome, awesome. Thank you so much for coming out tonight! To the first timers, welcome! To the returning fans, welcome back. Now, I’m gonna go over just a couple quick things before we continue.

“For the people who have been to see us here before, I’m gonna tell you right now that tonight we’ve decided to change our set-list just a little. Because tonight there are a couple very important people in the crowd; I won’t name names because that’s embarrassing, however I want this show to be extra special. You know, impressions and shit.

“And the second thing…are you guys ready to get FUCKED UP?”

We all yell at the top of our lungs. The way she says it, it doesn’t sound so bad.

It sounds fun.

Piper gets excited because the next song they play is by some band called Shaman’s Harvest, a group even Nico hasn’t heard of.

“How is it that you know them and I don’t?”

She sips her drink. “We’ve been to more than one show!”

He ignores her, throwing back the rest of his own drink. He nods at me, in the direction of the bar, and at the half-empty beer in my hand. “I’ll get you another one.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, truthfully not ready for a third. “Don’t you think you should slow down maybe?”

Nico’s dark eyes narrow critically, accentuated by the strobe lights. “Can’t get fucked up by going slow, Solace. Don’t be such a pussy.”

_Ouch. Okay, then._

“Ignore him,” Jason tells me, obviously reading the hurt expression I can’t control on my face. “Well, don’t ignore him, but don’t let him get to you. He’s not trying to be a dick.”

“Oh.” I unintentionally chug the rest of my beer. Jason attempts to ease me by patting my shoulder.

“This song is called “Fire It Up”. It’s by Disturbed.”

This one intrigues me; it starts with Em and her bandmates having a conversation on stage, all of them talking into their mics so we could hear. It doesn’t exactly have a purpose, it’s mostly them laughing, giving one another a hard time.

I don’t really understand the point of the song, either. But, it has a good beat.

Nico comes back eventually and slams my beer into my hand. The asshole expression in his eyes from before is gone, replaced by that effortless flirt they held back in the line outside.

I love how dark his eyes are. They’re like onyx, so luxurious and intricate.

“This next one is for all you Five Finger Death Punch fans out there,” Em announces, interrupting my obsession with Nico’s eyes. At least three-quarters of the bar cheers, throwing their fists into the air.

““Coming Down”,” Nico says the second they start playing. “I used to be addicted to this song.” He looks down at his shoes, a pained fog hazing over his eyes. “The video is so messed up.”

I don’t want to, however they show us part of that messed up video. I didn’t even see the screen hanging in the background.

For a large part of the instrumental solo, we’re shown an animation of demons. They’re all monstrous, horned and teethed and clawed, attacking two teenagers who I’m guessing are part of the rest of the video. They come from places like a school hallway and a girl’s laptop, gnashing their fangs and unhinging their claws, roaring at these kids like they’ve got something to prove. The demons eventually rip into them, harvesting their organs and chewing on their insides. There’s blood and hearts and eyeballs.

As I watch, I’m equally torn between two thoughts.

One: thank god this is an animation and not real-life.

Two: I feel like this video has something to do with teen suicide.

Em stops for another swig of water once the song is over. Her eyes are large, full of emotion. She’s looking right at Nico, who continues to be engrossed with his boots.

“Nico,” I mutter, poking him in the shoulder. “Look up. I think Em is trying to get your attention.”

He meets her eyes; she winks and takes a drink.

_You’re okay_ , she mouths. _I am, too._

Yep. Suicide.

“Okay!” Em shouts, tossing her water bottle aside. “How are we feeling? Still doing good?”

“Whoooooo!!”

“Perfect,” she laughs. “Now, for this next song, I’m gonna need your guys’ help. How does that sound?”

“Fuck yeah!” Jason yells, jumping up and down like a child along with everyone else in the bar.

“Okay. Does everybody have a drink in their hand? If you don’t have a drink, hurry your ass up and get one! You’re gonna need it.

“Now, here’s how it works. For this one, every time I say the words “bottoms up”, y’all have to drink. Can you do that for me?”

“YES!” I join in for this one.

“Fucking right. Are you ready?! Here we go!”

Wait. I _know this song_.

“Nico!” I exclaim, probably more excited than I should be, “I know this one! It’s Nickelback!”

Nico smiles, grabbing my hand and spinning around in a circle. “Good job, Solace! I’m proud of you.”

It’s electrifying, feeling completely embraced in a sea of strangers as you sing as loud as you possibly can, not giving any type of fuck if you have any sense of tone. Em’s voice changes every time she sings those two words, “bottoms up”, and she hits us with this expecting stare, her eyes gleaming wickedly.

She really is beautiful.

They play another Nickelback song following “See You In Hell” by Hinder: “Burn It to the Ground.” I find my own screams ringing in my ears.

I’m actually having _fun_.

“Put your devil horns in the air,” Em orders us, picking the intro like a pro. “I wanna see you bouncing!”

I honestly think pogo sticks would be jealous of all our bouncing.

That might just be the fourth beer talking.

Wait, I thought it was three?

_Okay, Will. Take a break after this one._

Burning things seems to be the current song topic; Nico informs me this is called “Burn It Down”. At this point, it could be called “Lick My Shoe” and I wouldn’t care. I just want to keep dancing. Or jumping. Whatever it’s called.

“You guys rock!” Em praises, spreading her arms wide to hypothetically surround us. “I’m gonna talk for a little bit now, ‘kay?”

Some people scream answers at her, others see this as a window to swarm the bar for the ingestion of more alcohol. Nico asks me if I want another drink; I kindly decline his offer.

“Later,” I promise. “I need a break for right now. You can go, if you want. I’ll buy.”

He shakes his head, too. “Nah. I’m good. I want to hear what she’s going to say.”

Em swings her guitar around so it rests behind her back. “For those of you who have seen us perform before, you most likely know now is about the time where we take a bit of a break, change our sound. And you know the reason why we do that. But for you newbies, you need an explanation.

“I lost my brother two years ago to brain cancer. When that happened, I made a promise to myself that I would honour him every single time I played a show. Now, anybody who knew my brother knew he and I had completely opposite taste when it came to music. He was more classical, jazz, and I was more…well, this; we always struggled on deciding what to listen to in the car.

“Usually, now is the time where I slip backstage, pull out a keyboard and serenade you with some sappy sad song. Don’t worry, tonight I’m not gonna do that. Tonight I am in such a good mood, I want to hold on to the energy buzzing in this room. Instead of the usual, I’m going to honour my brother by playing a song that is actually from my preferred genre, one of the few songs he not only listened to, but loved. Is that cool?”

Obviously it is-the whoops say so-but I feel like Em would sing this song no matter what we said. This is for Aidan, not us.

“All you sinners stand up,  
Sing hallelujah (hallelujah).  
Show praise with your body, stand up,  
Sing hallelujah (hallelujah).  
And if you can’t stop shaking, lean back,  
Let it move right through ya (hallelujah).  
Say your prayers,  
Say your prayers,  
Say your prayers.”

“Oh my gods!” Nico squeals, yanking hard on my arm. “Will! It’s Panic! At The Disco!”

“Who?”

“Panic! At The Disco!” he repeats, as if saying it twice is going to magically make me know who he’s talking about. “Only one of the best alternative bands, like, ever!”

“I’ll trust you, Neeks,” I tell him, gently patting his shoulder after fighting the urge to pat him on the head. It’s cute to watch him dance around, singing along with Em, who’s come off the stage and is bouncing around the front of the crowd.

I’m quite glad she changed her plan.

Sixx A.M.’s “Rise” is what Em claims to be their last song. During what I’m sure is an extended version of the instrumental, she takes the time to introduce the three guys behind her.

“On guitar, he’s the older twin by a whole three minutes, give it up for the always-funny guy we all just call Archie: Archer Matthews!”

Archie’s got shoulder-length platinum blonde hair streaked various shades of blue. His tattooed fingers expertly shred up and down the neck of his guitar, which is ironically matched by his streaks.

“On bass guitar, he may be younger but at least he’s taller, Ash Matthews!”

Ash is sporting a bright purple Mohawk that has to be at least half a foot high. His face is full of piercings: lip, eyebrow, nose, probably tongue; his neck is covered in detailed tattoos.

“On the drums behind me, which he probably likes because he gets to stare at my ass for the whole show, the man I am proud to call the love of my life, Mr. Jackson Barlow!”

Like Ash’s neck, Jax’s right arm is a full sleeve. He goes off on his drum set, wailing out a percussion segment so intense the floor takes its beat. It’s amazing to watch.

They finish the song and the lights go out again. All of the lights. It’s so dark I can’t see my own hands.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, turning my face in the direction I hope contains Jason. “Is it over?”

“No,” he whispers back. “Just wait.”

The crowd remains in its “screaming fans” state. They’ve started chanting.

“LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL! LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL! LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL!”

_That’s the Sixx A.M. song_.

The lights return; they play not one, not two, but three encore songs: “Life Is Beautiful”, “Thnks Fr Th Mmrs” (another song Nico adores because _duh, Will, it’s Fall Out Boy_ ), and something called “Coin for the Ferryman”, which puts Em and Archie together in this kick-ass solo.

“You guys are fucking awesome, thank you!” Em says as their final number begins to fade. “We are Arcadian Sharpe. Peace out, motherfuckers.”

The lights go off and on again, the stage now deserted. The DJ comes back to his booth and continues going through his pre-made playlist. Jason grabs Piper’s hand to drag her back to the bar; Nico and I share a glance, not sure what else to do except follow them.

“Now comes the best part!” Jason states, flagging down an unoccupied bartender. “The after-party.”

“After-party?” I ask, confused. “We don’t just go home now? The show is over.”

He laughs, clapping a large hand on my shoulder. “Oh, Will, you’re so dense, I love it. No, my friend. It’s time to party with the band.”

* * *

I don’t understand what Jason meant until about twenty minutes later, when the crowd goes berserk for what seems like the hundredth time tonight. I can make out all four band members trying to push their way through the sea of bodies, pausing to sign t-shirts and take selfies.

Finally, they’re able to fight through, inching towards us. I wave my hand to catch Em’s eyes; she smiles and points, dragging Jax behind her.

“You’re here!” she shrieks, throwing her arms around my neck, and then Nico’s. “Sorry, I’m kind of sweaty.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. Up close, I see her tank top has a gold bedazzled skull on it. “Hi, Jax.”

“Hey, Will.” We casually fist-bump; he and Nico proceed to do a series of handshakes I can’t follow. “Thanks for coming out tonight. Did you enjoy the show?”

“It was…” Nico starts, abruptly interrupted by a fangirling Jason.

“It was AMAZING!” he gushes. “You guys are SO AWESOME! Great show, yet again!”

“Thank you, Jason,” Em says with a shaky laugh. “Always good to see you.” She quickly introduces Archie and Ash, who both raise their hands in acknowledged waves.  
“Come on,” she suggests, speaking to the whole group while looking specifically at Nico, “Let’s go for a smoke.”

The back door of the bar leads to a decent-sized chain-link fenced patio, blocking us from the noise of the bar and the noise of downtown traffic. It’s cool out, not cold enough to retrieve my jacket.

Nico extracts a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans, leaning against the brick wall like some kind of troublemaking high-schooler. I stand next to him, pressing my back into the cool brick. After he lights up, he holds out his pack to me.

“Do you want one?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

Ash and Archie start on a brand-new pack of menthols; Em and Jax are puffing on vanilla-flavoured cigars; even Jason and Piper are sharing one.

“Looks like I’m the odd man out,” I joke.

Em barks out a short chortle, taking a long drag on her smoke. “Nothing wrong with that. Ash will be the odd man out once we go back inside.”

“Oh?”

Ash flicks the end of his menthol. “I don’t drink. Two of my best friends were killed in a drunk-driving accident when I was a junior. I vowed to never touch the stuff again.”

I wince; there’s a chorus of sympathetic chatter throughout the group. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. In a way, I think it’s what’s best for us. Archie, Jax, and Em can get hammered after shows and they’ll always have someone to take them home.”

“We’re very appreciative, little brother,” Archie simpers, fanning his hand over his brother’s purple Mohawk. “Speaking of drinks, I think it’s time we get some.”

Jax offers to buy me another beer once we’ve found a cozy spot on the bar. I shake my head, patting my keys in the pocket of my jeans.

“Designated driver, man. I can’t.”

He flashes me a simple grin; heat rushes over my entire body.

“You’re staring.”

I jump. Nico is standing dangerously close to me, peering up at me, the straw in his drink between his lips.

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. I almost had to close your mouth for you.”

I roll my eyes, trying to play off like he’s seeing things. “The guy has an uncanny resemblance to Andrew Garfield, and I’m obsessed with Spider-Man. He’s my favourite superhero.”

Nico snorts. “You’re a dork.”

“Absolutely. And proud of it.”

“Alright, little devils,” the DJ croons over the mic, “We’re gonna slow things down a bit.”

Em and Jax and Jason and Piper instantly book it to the dance floor; Ash and Archie search the room for some desperate single girls to dance with. Nico has returned to being fascinated with his boots.

_Don’t be a chicken shit, Solace. Ask him. Now._

I gulp. “Uhm, Nico? Would you…like to dance? With me, I mean…”

Nico’s cheeks turn a deep scarlet, I’m sure matching my own. “I can’t dance, Solace,” he mumbles. “I have two left feet.”

“So do I,” I tell him. “We could have a contest to see who steps on the other’s toes more.”

He cracks a small smile. “What’s the prize?”

“If you win, I’ll buy your next three drinks. If I win, you have to buy me a coffee.”

“I guess that’s fair.”

He takes my hand, pulling me into the crowd. “Don’t get hands-y, or I’ll start purposefully stepping on your toes. I guarantee my boots are heavier than your Converse.”

I laugh, biting my lip and nervously setting my hands on his waist. “How’s this?”

“Fine,” Nico stammers, now continuously blushing. His hands settle on my shoulders. Thankfully, he manages to keep his eyes on me, not the floor.

We sway in time to the music neither he nor I recognize, muttering apologies to each other every fifteen seconds. Nico suddenly exhales loudly.

“They’re so perfect.”

I follow his gaze to Em and Jax, who are wrapped in each other’s arms, hardly moving, mouthing the words to one another. In the glow of the stage lights, they really do look as though they’ve stepped out of a romance novel.

I sigh, pulling Nico closer to me. He doesn’t protest. “That’s only what the public sees, Nico. There’s no such thing as perfect.”

“I live with them, Will. They’re always like that.”

“I guess they’re just one of the lucky ones, then. Most relationships aren’t like that. Trust me.”

Nico pulls away, raising a dark eyebrow. “Trust you? Are you a psychiatrist and a relationship expert?”

“No. But my last relationship almost got me thrown out of med school. I’m well aware of the fairy-tale expectations versus the harsh reality theory.”

Nico returns to our original, closer position, his head close to resting on my shoulder. “How does that even happen? Did you sleep with one of your profs?”

“No. My biology professor was a homophobe, and when I refused to have sex with my boyfriend, he turned around and tattled on me. Professor Kym took me to the superintendent under the argument that I was unfit to practice psychiatry because “you can’t allow the mentally ill to treat the mentally ill”.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

My laugh is forced. “I wish I was. I can honestly say that was probably the worst week of my entire life. I’ve never been so grateful for a long list of rules.”

“People are fucked,” Nico mutters. His head falls to my shoulder in a heavy sort of way, making me wonder if all the alcohol he’s had is beginning to takes its effects. “I don’t understand why you’d be so willing to sacrifice all this time and money and energy into helping them.”

“Everyone needs a little help sometimes, Nico,” I say, allowing my hands to cautiously roam the expanse of his back. “And if I can make a difference, even if it’s only to one person, then it’s worth everything.”

“I’m sure you’ll make a difference for a lot of people. I’m more fucked up than most, and look at what you did for me.”

“So, does that mean I can chalk you up to my first success story?” I ask.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Solace,” he chides cheekily. “Just because I’ve grown to tolerate you doesn’t make me a success.”

“I think you’re pretty great,” I mumble, half-hoping he doesn’t hear me.

“Shut up, Solace.”

Crap.

After the song is over, we all compile together to dance/jump in a large cluster now including two strangers only interested in the Matthews twins. They swap out the rock genre for the occasional pop or country song, letting me cut loose just a little more thanks to the ability of knowing the lyrics enough to sing them out loud along with everyone else.

“Hey,” Nico says, tapping my shoulder following a P!nk song, “I won the toe-stepping contest. You owe me.”

“I believe you are correct, Mr. di Angelo,” I agree, unsure of who actually won because I stopped counting once Nico started talking. “Lead the way to the libations!”

He rolls his eyes, calling me a dork under his breath. He orders a vodka soda and water for me; as soon as the bartender turns away, I hear it.

“Move, faggot.”

I whirl around, face-to-face with a burly guy barely able to keep grip on the cup in his hand. His shaggy brown hair is slick with sweat, hanging in his mossy green eyes. His nose is large, purple, and slightly swollen, like it’s on the mend from being recently broken.

“What did you just say?”

“Wasn’t talking to you, sunny boy,” he snarls, his upper lip curling in disgust at Nico. “Didn’t you hear me? I told you to move.”

“I heard you,” Nico answers, his voice dangerously calm. “However, the last time I checked I was not made to obey your orders.”

“Fuck you. Who let you in here, anyway? They make bars for you sick freaks, go show your disgusting pride there where us normal people don’t have to witness it.”

“Okay,” I snap, ready to throw myself in between Nico and this asshole if I have to. “What’s your problem, man? There’s plenty of open space at the bar.”

“Shut the fuck up, you little pussy,” he barks at me. “I don’t want plenty of open space, I want this space. I want this homo to get the fuck out of my space.”

“Don’t call him…” I start, cut off by the putting of Nico’s hand on my leg.

“Will, don’t,” he says.

“ _Will, don’t_ ,” the guy mimics, staggering way too far into my personal bubble. “You people make me sick. I saw you dancing out there, projecting your PDA like it’s something to be proud of. Fucking faggots need to be locked in a goddamn mental institute. Go be disgusting somewhere else.” He jumps forward, trying to roughly yank Nico’s hand off my leg, throwing his drink at us in the process.

“Bryce!”

The tension in Em’s voice is enough to cut glass. I was too busy trying to dodge flying liquor to see her come over.

“Hey, there she is!” Bryce slurs, completely ignoring us and focusing what little attention he’s capable of forming on her. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”

“I’m sure you have,” Em says curtly. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you play, duh. Don’t you like it when I come see you play?”

Bryce’s tone has transformed from repulsed and enraged to scummy and leering. I catch a flicker of fear in Em’s eyes and my stomach immediately cramps.

“What happened to you, Em?” Bryce drawls, somehow turning her around so her back is to the bar, inching closer and closer to her until she’s trapped between him and the counter. “You used to be so much _fun_.”

His hands reach out to grab her hips. I’m frozen, my eyes scanning the crowd in a desperate search for Jax.

“Bryce, don’t,” Em tries, her voice quivering.

“What are you gonna do? Big brother isn’t here to save you anymore.”

“Hey, get off her!” Nico yells, clawing at Bryce’s hands, who swats him away like he’s nothing but a pesky fly. The second he releases her, Em grabs the opportunity to twist out of his grip, unleashing a brutal taxicab whistle shrill enough to earn stares from everyone at the bar. I hold out one of my arms and she runs into it, clinging to my elbow. She’s shaking.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, suddenly understanding what it’s like to be Jax, feeling obsessively protective of her.

“Is there a problem, Miss. Sharpe?”

The security guard from the front door is next to us, disrupting Bryce’s get-set to pound Nico into the ground. His hands are planted firm on his hips, the look on his face so dark it could scare the shit out of a sewer rat.

“This guy’s been harassing my friends,” Em informs him, releasing her grip on my elbow. “Get him out of here, Ross. And don’t let him back in. I never want to see him again.”

Ross is comparable to Bryce like an elephant is compared to a chicken; he seizes Bryce by the scruff of the neck and hauls him across the dance floor. Bryce fights the whole way, kicking and screaming, calling Em all sorts of awful names from whore to cunt.

Em chucks the straw from Nico’s drink and downs it in one gulp. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth, sputtering.

“Is this vodka?”

“It _was_ ,” Nico says, holding his now-empty glass to the bartender. “Em…what was that?”

Em blatantly ignores his question, instead taking both Nico’s and my hand. “You guys have to promise me something. When Jax comes in from smoking, you can’t tell him Bryce was here.”

I scrunch up my eyebrows, glad Nico’s adapted a similar expression. “What? Why?”

“Because he’ll lose his shit and hunt him down. I don’t want to spend my night in a police station. Okay? Please?”

Nico and I share an uncomfortable glance, Em staring at us, her eyes big and pleading. “Okay,” Nico sighs in agreement. “But you have to tell us what that was about.”

“I will,” she promises. “Not here, though, not tonight. I need to be somewhere quiet. And private.

“Come on,” she says, banging her hand on the counter to emphasize her insistence on a subject change, “We’re due for some shots.”

 

I once heard a comedian say that tequila always shows up to end the night of a party, and it never shows up alone. There’s always eight or nine of them lined up.

Eight, nine, fourteen, fifteen, who knows.

I lost count after five.

I don’t understand how or where Nico is handling all this booze. He’s a good five inches shorter than me and at least forty pounds lighter; if I had taken that many shots, plus those drinks from earlier, I would’ve already thrown up and passed out.

By the time last call rolls around, he’s pretty done for. Jason and Piper have been gone for an hour, calling it quits once Piper started running to the bathroom to throw up. Em and Jax quit drinking when they left, turning into the definition of PDA, glomming all over each other, obviously forgetting about the public place factor. They disappear for a half-hour around twelve-thirty; Ash informs us of their post-show ritual: doing it in the bathroom.

“They’re horny drunks.”

Apparently, so is Nico di Angelo.

Getting him into his jacket and loaded into the front seat of my car is harder than I expected; he’s like a sack of bricks when he’s drunk: heavy and unpredictable.

“Do you need some help, Will?” Ash calls, throwing a wasted Archie into the front seat of Em’s Jeep along with a bottle of water and a plastic barf-bag. “I’m used to handling drunk men.”

“I think I’m okay, thanks. It was nice to meet you, the show was awesome.”

“Thanks, man.” He smiles. “It was nice to meet you, too. Em talks about you and Nico all the time.”

My face burns. “She does?”

Ash nods. “Yeah. All good things, you don’t need to worry. I better get these guys home. See you around, Dr. Solace.”

I wave to them as he pulls out of the parking lot and takes off down the deserted street. I manage to get Nico’s seatbelt on, quickly starting the car and driving off in the same direction.

“If you feel like you might be sick, let me know and I’ll pull over.”

Nico pulls on his constricting seatbelt, slamming his body against the back of his seat. “I don’t get sick,” he says sloppily.

“Okay.”

He huffs, pressing his forehead against the window. “I used to hate people,” he says. “But, you know what, you’re pretty okay. I like you, Dr. Solace.”

“That’s nice, Nico,” I reply, patting his knee. “I’m glad. I like you, too.”

“No, no,” Nico says. He peels himself off the window to lean on my shoulder. “I mean, I _like you_ like you.”

“Nico, I’m trying to drive….”

“You’re so pretty!” Nico lifts his hand and caresses his fingers across my cheek, curling them in my hair. “Like, gods, it’s not fair how pretty you are. You have so many freckles! Do you have freckles all over your body? Like…all over?” His hand vanishes from my face, running down my body to fight for a spot between my legs. “Can I see them?”

“Nico.” I pry his hand off me and hold it still in his own lap. “You’ve had a lot to drink. This is the tequila talking. Now, please, I’m trying to drive. I want to get you home safe.”

We manage to make it home a few minutes later sans another drunken interruption. I fish through the pockets of Nico’s aviator jacket until I locate his house key; the foyer light has been left on for us so we don’t have to stumble around in the dark.

Jax’s vest and tie and Em’s tank top are tossed carelessly on the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. There’s a belt and one of Em’s spiky high heels at the top of the landing.

“They’re having sex,” Nico slurs, relying hard on the support of my arm stuffed beneath his armpits. “Hey! Maybe we should have sex, and then we could have a competition to see who’s louder!”

I plop him down on his bed, ordering him to put his arms up so I can remove his shirt. “As sincere as that offer is, Nico, I’m going to have to say no. Now, come on, let’s get your jeans off so we can put you to bed.”

“I’d much rather put you to bed,” Nico says, trying to wriggle his eyebrows in a sexy way that only seems to make him appear more intoxicated. “I bet you have such a hot body under those clothes.”

“You’re not going to find out today.” I yank off his jeans and his socks; from the pocket of Cecil’s jacket I grab a package of painkillers.

“Here. Take these.”

“What is it?”

“Advil. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“I’d thank you a hell of a lot more if you’d just fuck me.” He fists the front of my shirt, pulling me down on top of him, smashing his lips against mine.

Now, I would be lying if I said I hadn’t imagined my first kiss with Nico. I pictured something more romantic: after a walk in the park, underneath the stars; curled up on the couch together after suffering through a scary movie.

Not this.

Nico’s lips are slightly dry, and he tastes like tequila. His hands are everywhere, grabbing any part of me he can reach. He’s way stronger than he looks.

“Mmmmh, okay,” I gasp, finally able to come up for air. “Nico, you are drunk. You aren’t thinking clearly. You need to get under the covers and go to sleep. I’m going to leave now, before something happens that we both regret.”

Nico’s eyelids droop and he snarls at me. “You are a pussy. Get the fuck out.”

His harsh words hurt. I slam the bathroom garbage can next to his bed and leave, just in time to hear a loud moan and an even louder bang leaking from behind Em and Jax’s closed bedroom door.

Awesome.

_Don’t give up,_ my conscience advises on the drive home. _He’ll come around in a few days._

As much as I want to submit to that logic, there’s a second nagging thought in my head telling me there’s a reason doctor-patient relationships are against the rules. And frankly, I’m not sure which one to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Arcadian Sharpe's set-list in case I didn't make it as clear as I intended:
> 
> 1\. In The End - Black Veil Brides  
> 2\. Sound of Madness - Shinedown  
> 3\. Dangerous - Shaman's Harvest  
> 4\. Fire It Up - Disturbed  
> 5\. Coming Down - Five Finger Death Punch  
> 6\. Bottoms Up - Nickelback  
> 7\. See You In Hell - Hinder  
> 8\. Burn It to the Ground - Nickelback  
> 9\. Burn It Down - Skillet  
> 10\. Hallelujah - Panic! At the Disco  
> 11\. Rise - Sixx A.M.  
> 12\. Life Is Beautiful - Sixx A.M.  
> 13\. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs - Fall Out Boy  
> 14\. Coin for the Ferryman - Nickelback
> 
> I love every one of these songs. Also, if you happen to be curious about the video for Coming Down, I will warn you that it is about suicide and it is very intense, so please keep that in mind.


	7. Nico: Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico wakes up after his night of partying with missing gaps in his mind about what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary pretty much says it. I PROMISE I will get into the story of what happened between Em and Bryce. For now, enjoy some beginning-stage Solangelo

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been good enough,  
I’m a little bit rusty and,  
I think my head is cavin’ in.  
And I don’t know if I’ve ever been really loved,  
By a hand that’s touched me and,  
I feel like something’s gonna give.  
And I’m a little bit angry.”

I wish I lost the ability to open my eyes.

The pain wasn’t so bad when they were closed.

Every single bone, muscle, tendon, ligament, and organ in my body is throbbing the next morning. Even my hair follicles hurt.

I blink a few times, hoping the retrieving of tears will help the ache behind my eyes. The taste in my mouth is awful, probably poisonous if anyone got within close proximity to me.

It’s a dark, dreary day outside; I can smell the faintest hint of rain.

My favourite type of weather. The kind of conditions permitting me to spend the whole day in bed.

I don’t even remember how I got into bed.

_Oh, gods. Will._

I blindly search for my phone, unable to locate it in its usual spot by my alarm clock. Grumbling, I recall it being tucked in one of the pockets of my aviator jacket, so I stumble out of bed, ignoring the strong wave of nausea. Sure enough, it’s there, shockingly holding on to twenty percent of its battery. Aside from a notification from Facebook, my lock screen is blank.

Meaning no texts or calls from him.

Disheartened tightness clenches my chest. I can’t help wondering what else happened last night; I know I’m not the easiest drunk to deal with. Bianca used to call me aggressively flirtatious.

_Oh. Fuck_.

I throw on a pair of sweats and the first clean shirt I find, brush my teeth three times and head downstairs with the hope of finding more Advil, something to eat, and someone who will fill the gaps in my mind of last night.

The main level smells strongly of bacon. Jax is sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by textbooks, coughing wildly into the crook of his elbow.

“Morning,” he sputters, catching his breath.

“Morning,” I grumble. “You okay there?”

“Yeah, coffee went down the wrong tube.” He chuckles softly, rubbing his nose. “If you don’t mind me saying, Nico, you look awful.”

“Awful sounds pretty good compared to how I feel,” I say, only half-joking.

“It was the tequila, wasn’t it?”

“It’s always the tequila.”

“Here.” Jax gets up from the table. “I have something that might help.” He putters around the kitchen for a minute or two, returning with a massive bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich and a tall glass full of weird red juice.

“Eat and drink this. It works for me.”

“Okay, I get the sandwich, but what’s this concoction?”

Jax smiles. “Tomato juice, tabasco sauce, Worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, and a whole raw egg. It’s called a Prairie Oyster.”

I wrinkle my nose, trying not to gag. “That sounds revolting.”

“It’s not that bad. Try it before you nix it.”

I take a cautious sip; almost immediately, the ache in my entirety subsides a little. “Hmm, it’s not what I expected. It’s not horrible.”

“See?” Jax resumes his spot at the table, flipping through a few pages in his ginormous mathematics textbook. “I felt like shit this morning, too, until I had that.”

“At least it wasn’t just me. Where’s Em?”

“She went for a run.”

My eyebrows shoot halfway up my forehead. “She was well enough to go for a run?”

Jax shrugs, looking more than slightly jealous. “She doesn’t get hangovers. I don’t understand how; she matched me drink for drink last night, including shots.”

“But she’s tiny.”

“I know.” Jax shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s not fair.”

We sit in silence for a while, me munching on my delicious sandwich, him randomly humming as he scratches out a collaboration of notes from his numerous textbooks. Since it’s just us guys, Em conveniently missing so I can forget about her chewing me out, the temptation to question Jax about Em’s relationship with that Bryce guy lingers in my mouth, equivalent to the hangover aftertaste I can only hope my toothpaste took care of.

A bout of wrath sends showering tingles down my spine. I remember the time Bianca came home from a date with a local boy in her grade and broke down in tears because he tried to go too far, and when she told him to stop he called her a slut and dumped her. I told her at least he didn’t force her into doing something she didn’t want; she yelled at me that that wasn’t the point and punched me in the arm.

From the events of last night, it seems to me Bryce _did_ do something to Em that she didn’t want. Something that maybe could have gotten worse if it hadn’t been for Aidan.

The thought makes me _very_ angry.

“Hey, Nico. Earth to Nico!”

Jax’s voice calling my name removes me from my mind. I stretch my neck in a circle, downing the rest of my Prairie Oyster. “Sorry. Zoned out, I guess.”

“What were you thinking about? You were…growling.”

“I was?”

He nods. “Everything okay?”

_You can’t tell him Bryce was here. He’ll lose his shit and hunt him down._

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

An inquisitive looks sweeps across Jax’s face, hinting his disbelief in my insistence. Thankfully, the front door opens and Em hollers up the stairs at us.

“Jax, I’m back! Is Nico up yet?”

“Yes,” I yell back at her.

“Good morning.” She ruffles my hair, snatching a lonely bit of bacon from my plate. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve felt better,” I admit.

“Had a little too much fun last night, did we?”

“Maybe.”

The ecstatic brightness in her eyes lights up her whole face. “So you did have fun!”

“There was tequila and rock music,” I say. “Isn’t that the recipe for fun? Besides, not once did I say I didn’t think I would have a good time.”

Em grins, sashaying into the chair opposite me. “You and Will sure seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. I saw you slow dancing together.”

A flaming red blush ignites my face. “What was that song, anyway?”

““Free Fallin’”, the live John Mayer version,” Jax says, not lifting his eyes from his notes.

“Oh.” I really wish I could stop blushing. “I mean, yeah, it was fun. We stepped on each other’s toes a lot.”

Em leans back in her chair, eyes twinkling excitedly. The right side of her mouth lifts up in a knowing little smirk.

“What?” I ask, uneasy with that look.

“Nothing.”

“You look like the cat who swallowed the canary.”

“I do not.” She purses her lips. “Did anything else happen between you two?”

I cringe, hating the way she phrased that, cursing myself and stupid tequila for being so…stupid. “I hope not!” I overwhelmingly shout, banging my fist on the table. “I was so drunk; I can’t even remember!”

Em jumps back, blinking. “S-Sorry…” she manages, her eyes now clouded by regret. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t remember anything happening. That’s why I asked.”

“Yeah, because you and Jax were too busy fucking.”

They share a glance of complete embarrassment. I angrily scrub my eyes.

“I’m so stupid.”

Em tries, and fails, not to laugh, leaning forward and patting my hand. “You’re not stupid, Nico. Tequila fucks everyone up. If I were you, I would be proud of myself for tossing back that many shots without barfing. That takes talent.”

“A talent every kid dreams of having,” I joke as an idea pops into my head.

“Can I borrow your laptop?” I ask Em. “There’s someone I have to talk to.”

 

I send Hazel a text to make sure she and Frank are both home before I open Skype on Em’s MacBook. It rings a few times before my sister’s face comes into view, so close to the camera I can see the thickness of her dark eyelashes.

“Nico? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” I say. “Hazel, you’re too close to the camera, back up a little.”

She curses, her cinnamon curls bouncing as she shakes her head dismissively. “I always do that,” she huffs, spinning around to locate the desk chair to sit in. “How’s that?”

“Better. Where’s Frank?”

“Right here,” Frank announces, grabbing an extra chair, his burly presence almost overshadowing the whole screen. “How’s it going, Nico?”

I shrug. “It’s going.”

“You look hungover. Are you alright?”

“Gods, is it really that bad?”

Neither of them speak, but the grimaces on their faces say enough.

“Okay, gotcha. Thanks. Look, I didn’t call you guys for you to point how shitty I look. I need some advice.”

Hazel rests her elbows on the desk, setting her chin in her hands. “What kind of advice?”

I rub the back of my neck, disregarding the rapid race of my heartbeat. “Boy advice?”

Hazel’s mouth forms a perfect o shape; Frank whistles, pressing backwards against his chair, obviously impressed.

“Is this about the psychiatry resident?” he inquires. “Will, right?”

I nod, my smile automatic at the sound of Will’s name.

Frank claps his hands, the sound booming an echo through the small computer speakers. “Yes, Nico! This is awesome! Are you being safe? Don’t forget protection!”

Hazel elbows his muscled bicep, shifting tautly. “Why is it that you boys always assume relationship questions are centered around the subject of sex?”

Frank raises his hands, clueless, his signature smile restoring the baby-face features of his face I’ve grown so used to over the past five years. “I shouldn’t assume,” he decides, his eyes leaving my sister’s face to search mine through the camera. “Is this a sex-related session, Mr. di Angelo?”

I shake my head in denial, oddly relieved. Casting aside the subtle disappointment shining in Frank’s dark irises, I proceed to give them the details of the night previous, starting with the moment Will picked me up and ending with Jason carrying a drunk Piper out of the bar because that is the last thing I remember clearly.

“The rest of the night is pretty blurry,” I confess, drumming my fingers on the keyboard. “I know for sure it was Will who brought me home, but I’m not sure if something else happened. And he hasn’t called or texted me today.”

“Have you called or texted him?” Hazel asks, her tone implying that’s the obvious thing to do.

I shake my head. “I’m scared to.”

“Scared of finding out what happened, or scared of Will’s reaction to what happened?”

“Both.”

Hazel hums, toying with Frank’s hands, locking and unlocking their fingers. “Call me naïve, Nico, but don’t you think asking Will about last night is the smartest choice? I understand the reasons behind your fear, however you can’t always assume the worst. For all you know, absolutely nothing happened last night, and everything is fine between you two.”

“If everything is fine, how come he hasn’t contacted me?”

Hazel stares expressionlessly at me, her classic _are you kidding me?_ look. “Really, Nico? You’re going to play that card? What are you, a pre-menstrual fifteen-year-old girl?”

“It’s a fair statement!” I protest weakly, knowing she’s nothing less than right.

She presses her lips into a thin line. “You know it’s not. Be a man. And next time, don’t drink so much.”

I huff, rubbing a hand gruffly over my face. “I could have googled that advice, sis.”

“I’m aware,” she says snidely, “But I didn’t think you were requesting a reminder of the incident that happened the last time we went drinking.”

“What? You don’t enjoy reliving the story of me getting drunk on my twentieth birthday and hitting on every guy in the bar until I finally came across one who was more intoxicated than I was and willing to make out with me?”

“Not to mention how frustrated you got when said guy refused to have sex with you, so you sat in the corner and pouted until one of us took you home.”

“As if you know how it feels to get rejected,” I mumble. “You and Frank have been dating since you were thirteen.”

“As if you would’ve been proud of yourself for sleeping with him,” Hazel retorts, rolling her golden eyes. “Bianca always said you were a horny drunk.”

“So you’re saying I probably did hit on Will.”

She raises her shoulder so high they graze her earlobes. “You’ll never know unless you ask him.”

“You’re not going to give up on this, are you?” I ask, regardless of the fact I already know her answer.

“It’s what you need to hear.”

I glance at Frank and cock one eyebrow. “Back me up, Frank?”

He shakes his head dejectedly. “Sorry, man, Hazel’s right about this one.”

I sigh and thank them, promising to phone more often before hanging up. I extract my phone from the front pocket of my sweats, clicking the lock button several times. Finally, my fingers give in; I type my passcode and open up my contacts, staring at Will’s name.

* * *

I don’t call him. Or text him.

Cowardly, I know. But I couldn’t. I mean I physically couldn’t.

I spend minutes, maybe hours over the next three days staring at his name in my phone, typing out a message and then erasing it, typing out a different message and then erasing that one, too.

It doesn’t help that Will has actually attempted communication with me, texting me a few times to ask me how I am.

I can’t bring myself to reply. No message feels good enough. Not an apology or pretending like nothing happened, not anything

So I don’t.

The texts come to a stop on the fourth day. The only person who has texted me is Em to let me know she forgot her lunch, and kindly requests that I bring it to her; Jax took the bus to work today, so I’m allowed to borrow his car.

Getting past the main entrance from inside the hospital is easy. I force an easygoing smile on my face as I approach the front desk, relieved to see its Carolyn working today and not Nancy.

“Hello, Nico!” Carolyn greets me brightly, flashing me her megawatt smile. Her dyed black hair is swept off her face in a clip, showing off her bright blue eye makeup. “I haven’t seen you in so long! How have you been? What brings you here?”

“I’m good, Carolyn, thank you,” I say, holding up Em’s purple lunch bag. “Em forgot her lunch at home. She asked me to bring it to her.”

“Of course, dear.” Carolyn pushes a button; the second set of entrance doors slide open following a series of loud clicks and the sound of a ringing doorbell. “Go on in.”

Em and Will are in the middle of a deep converse behind the nurses’ desk. I approach slowly, not wanting to interrupt.

“There you are,” Em says, noticing me anyway. Will immediately clams up, a nasty red blush blooming on his neck and inching up through his face.

“I’m, uh, going to check on Cal and Mrs. Boras and Benjy and CJ.” He pushes past me and storms away, his manner making me feel outrageously invisible.

Em stretches out her hand, motioning to retrieve her lunch bag. The calm expression on her face has melted into something much more serious.

“Look, di Angelo,” she snaps, lowering her voice and speaking through tightly clenched teeth. “I don’t know what happened between you and Will, but he has been Dr. Mopey all week. Even the patients are starting to notice it. It’s a major downer. You need to fix it.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one who can! I don’t care what you do, just do it!” Her eyes dart to the space behind me. “Here he comes. You’re not allowed to leave this unit until you guys have talked. Nurse’s orders.”

I open my mouth to argue with her; she hits me with this scary stare that makes my mouth slam shut. “Yes ma’am.”

As soon as Will sets foot into the restricted space, Em leaves, slamming the door behind her and stomping off in the direction of my old room. Will drops the chart in his hands on the desk and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his forest green scrub top.

_That colour makes his eyes look amazing._

I lick my lips, tuning out the obsessive voice in my head and the building heat in my groin. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Will can barely look at me, holding those blue eyes of his to mine for less than a second before they’re gone and I’m anxiously searching for them.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say here, Will.”

“No one’s asking you to say anything,” he counters. “Not saying anything is something you seem to clearly excel in. Oh, unless you’re drunk. Then you don’t know when to shut up.”

There’s now a knot in my stomach the size of Texas, and it’s twisting and clenching so tight I feel like I might vomit.

_Something happened._

“What do you mean?”

Will rolls his eyes, clucking his tongue. “You don’t remember? How convenient.”

“That’s not fair,” I say, anger combining with my nerves.

“I’m sorry,” Will snaps, his nose crinkling, “I only had to get you home safely while you were shit-faced and constantly hitting on me, then attempt to put you to bed while you tried to put _me_ to bed, and not in the sleep way, and then you _kissed me_ and told me to fuck off when I said no. And _I’m_ being unfair to _you_?” He stops, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and inhaling tersely.

“I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I told myself over and over again that it was the alcohol, not you. And then I reached out to you, and you ignored me. How else am I supposed to take that?”

I wring my hands, Will’s words running a incessant loop in my head. His whole face is plagued by sadness: his eyes are dark and glassy, his nose the tiniest bit red, his mouth turned down in a crestfallen frown. Even his freckles appear lackluster, blending into the paleness of his cheeks.

“Will…” My voice breaks and I’d give anything to be able to go behind the desk and take his hands. “I…I’m _sorry_. I never meant to hurt you. I’ve always been an intolerable drunk, and I know that’s no excuse for what I did but I am really sorry and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

Will’s features soften some; the dimples in his cheeks greet me briefly with the smallest of smiles on his lips. He takes another breath as if to say something, but I hold up my hand.

“Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you that coffee.”

“What happened to “I don’t date”?”

“It’s not a date,” I say quickly. “It’s me making up for being an asshole.”

Will thinks about it, massaging his jaw. “But, you didn’t win the toe-stepping bet.”

“That doesn’t matter. Please, Will? I promise I’ll give you a proper explanation, one worthy of your kindness.” I scuff the dirty floor with the toe of my boot. “You took care of me when I was most vulnerable. Most guys would have probably either left me at the bar or just dropped me off, not caring if I made it in the house or not. Believe me when I say I’m grateful for what you did.”

Will exhales, pulling on a handful of golden curls. Then, following a painful minute of silence, he smiles. His real smile, the one made of dimples and pearly teeth.

“You’re pretty persuasive, Nico. How about tomorrow? I can meet you after work somewhere.”

I nod fanatically, not caring if relief is written all over my face. “Tomorrow works. Text me later? I promise I’ll reply.”

Will’s smile turns sassy. “I’m holding you to that promise, di Angelo.” He looks down at his abandoned chart. “I should probably go back to work now. I’ll talk to you later; I’m texting you the minute my shift is over.”

 

We stayed up until nearly 1 A.M. texting.

Oops.

Now it’s closing in on half-past seven, and I’m sitting in a cozy booth at Starbucks, hands curled around a venti chai latte. The strong aroma coming from Will’s black Verona wafts through the air untouched, waiting to be sipped. I’m not a fan of black coffee; the smell is intoxicating enough for me to push salivation.

Will told me earlier what he liked to drink, and to not wait for him to order. I guess drinking lukewarm coffee doesn’t bother him like it does me.

So I sit and wait, casually sipping my latte and resorting to a string of solitaire games on my phone. It’s not like Will to be late.

Finally, at around 8:15, the front door opens and Will flies in, looking guilty and out of breath. His cheeks and nose are pink from the cold.

“I am so sorry I’m late,” he gasps, throwing his weight into the seat across from me, clutching his coffee. “There was an emergency at work, Dr. Blofis wouldn’t let me leave.”

I hide my smile in the lid of my cup. “It’s okay,” I say. “Emergencies happen.”

Will slouches in his chair, covering his eyes with his hand. His shoulders rise and fall.

“Hey,” I reach forward and pull his fingers away, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to talk about it? You can, I’ve been told I’m a decent listener.”

He shakes his head, clenching my fingers in return. “Sorry. I’m just exhausted.”

I can tell. His azure blue eyes are heavy-lidded and bloodshot. His scrub top is wrinkled, and there’s a small stain near the collar. His normally kept blonde curls are strewn all over the place; he’s got an adorable cowlick just above his left ear. It’s all I can do not to tangle my fingers around it and smooth it down.

“Don’t apologize for doing your job,” I tell him sincerely.

Will picks at the sleeve encircling his cup, simultaneously chewing his lip. “Can I confess something?”

I nod slowly. “Sure.”

“Thinking about meeting you for coffee is the only thing that got me through today.”

“Wow,” I say, forcibly shoving away all the feelings crawling up my throat. “That was corny.”

Will chuckles, taking a long sip of his coffee. “I know. Sorry. Hey, wanna play a game?”

“I don’t think this is that kind of coffee shop, Will.”

“No, not a board game. This game consists of questions, three to be exact, in which we can ask the other person anything and they have to answer honestly.”

That game sounds downright terrifying, yet compulsively curious, similar to the feeling I used to get when Bianca and I watched _Fear Factor_. “Anything at all?” I confirm. “Completely honest answers?”

“Yup.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Fine. But I get to go first.”

Will plops his elbows on the table, making a fist to rest his chin on. “Ask away.”

I cross my arms, pretending to think long and hard about what to ask him. “When did you first realize you were gay?”

“And here I thought you were going to ask me something original.” Will’s gaze is full of tease. He sips his drink again. “This is a lame answer, but I think I’ve always known. My first celebrity crush was Tobey Macguire and the kids at school used to make fun of me for it. I didn’t understand why; I couldn’t tell the difference between saying I liked him versus my best friend saying he liked Megan Fox. My brain disregarded the obvious fact that I always liked boys and my friends always liked girls. It didn’t seem any different. You know?”

“Sure.” I nod in agreement. “That’s a reasonable argument.”

“What about you?”

“That counts as one of your questions.”

“I know.” Will smiles. “I want to know.”

I actually have to pause and think about this question; it proves much more challenging to answer than to ask.

“I don’t think I could point out a specific moment and claim it the exact moment I knew I was gay. It was more like a series of events leading me up to a point where I was like _yeah, I like boys_.” I trail off, unable to continue, nervously picking the skin around my thumbnail.

_You told Em. You can tell Will._

“Do you remember a guy named Percy Jackson?”

Will’s brow furrows. “You mean the guy who sometimes came to visit you with Jason? Tall, dark hair, eyes like the ocean, kind of ignorant. Yeah, I remember him. Why?”

“He was my first crush.”

Will’s eyes grow wide as quarters, his hands falling into his lap. “Really?”

I nod. “I met him at this summer camp my sister and I used to go to. He was actually the first person I met, the first real friend I made. The guy was everything I wanted to be: nice, smart, funny, confident. When he spoke, people listened. People looked up to him. _I_ looked up to him. I practically _idolized_ him for three years.

“I don’t know where the feelings came from, but they were there. And each year, every time I saw him again after being away for nine months, they grew stronger. They were almost smouldering, consuming my entirety like a suffocating tidal wave. I didn’t know how to handle them, so I started acting out. I became really distant. I acted like I didn’t give a shit about anything he said or did. People started thinking I was crushing on Annabeth, because I was always around them and barely gave Percy the time of day.” My chai latte is getting cold now, but I gulp it down anyway.

“He didn’t even notice the change in my attitude. He just kept going, flaunting his perfect relationship with perfect Annabeth like I hadn’t bothered to exist. Which, I know, is my own fault since I didn’t tell him how I felt.

“Eventually, the feelings started turning into hate. I hated Percy Jackson. I hated him for making me feel the way I did. I hated _myself_ for feeling the way I did. Why couldn’t I have just been like all of my other guy friends who were into girls and didn’t develop crushes on people who were already in serious relationships?”

“That isn’t fair, Nico,” Will interjects softly. “You shouldn’t loathe yourself because of how you feel about something. You felt that way for a reason; that doesn’t make it wrong.”

“I know,” I whisper, refusing to meet his eyes. “Anyway, the year after I forced myself to quit liking him, one of the biggest camp bullies pressured me into coming out in front of Jason. I admitted my crush on Percy, truthfully claiming it was a past thing. When I finally got the courage to tell Percy, I said I thought he was cute, but he wasn’t my type. He took it well, obviously, I mean we’re still friends and that happened five years ago. But, still. Does that make any sense?”

Will is initially quiet, staring at me with those big blue eyes of his. I can tell he’s thinking; I haven’t a clue about what.

“Is it okay if I ask two questions in a row?” he wonders.

“Of course,” I say.

“Is that why you don’t date?”

“Yes. I’ve unfairly assumed all guys are like Percy, and any relationship I attempt is going to turn out the exact same way. Hence the reason why I refuse to even try. I’m not going to subject myself to that kind of pain, not again.”

Will’s silence drives a dull wedge in my heart. His eyes darken from emotions I can only guess as discontent and gloom.

“I can’t make you change your mind. But, I am going to tell you not all guys are like Percy.” The negativity dissolves as fast as it appeared, replaced by his usual cheerful manner. “It’s your turn to ask me something now.”

“Okay,” I say, pleasantly surprised at the ease of the smile on my lips. “What made you want to go into psychiatry?”

“I love this question!” Will rubs his hands together. “It was a combination of two things: one being the abundance of insistences of people claiming the origin of my sexuality came from a very sick and twisted place inside my head, the other being one of my classmates committing suicide in my sophomore year of high school.

“We had so many school assemblies after finding out what happened to Ellis, all of them featuring guest speakers who were psychologists or psychiatrists or counselors stating their expertise on how to spot someone who might be considering suicide and what there was for alternative options. It got me invested on how the human brain could function in such an imperative state; I knew I wanted to be part of the healing process. So, I looked into majoring in psychiatry. And here I am.”

It’s mesmerizing, the way Will talks about medicine. The way his eyes shine and his whole face lights up thanks to the bubbling amounts of passion oozing from within him.

He is _so beautiful._

My face muscles are starting to ache I’m smiling so much. Will mirrors me, adding an inquisitive raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say quietly. “You still have one more question left.”

Will puts his hand down on the table, sliding his fingers in my direction, brushing his pinky against the hand I have around my empty cup. “If Percy Jackson isn’t your type, then who is?”

I automatically look down at my lap; if an entire-body blush is possible, I’m positive I’m doing it.

“I don’t know if I have a type.”

“Really? Well, that’s too bad, because I do. And it consists of short, dark-haired, pale Italian guys who like tequila and rock music.”

“Are you hitting on me, Solace?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

Will’s smile turns my insides to jelly. “If it’s working or not.”

 

Five Things I Learned About Will Solace on Our Not-A-Date Coffee Date:

1\. His favourite colour is green  
2\. He hates horror movies  
3\. His favourite music artist is Eric Church (whoever that is)  
4\. He’s a runner; he’s run the New York Marathon three times  
5\. His middle name is Robert

The barista kindly asks to leave at closing time. Will offers to drive me home, and doesn’t pressure me once we reach the front of the townhouse. We exchange thank you’s and goodnight’s, promising to talk tomorrow; I find myself standing on the curb, staring after him as his car turns the corner and disappears into the cold night.

Em and Jax are both passed out on the couch, Em sprawled on Jax’s chest, Jax’s arm dangling over the edge and his mouth half-open. I tuck the blanket around them, whisper goodnight and tiptoe upstairs.

My phone goes off while I’m brushing my teeth. I rinse and spit, wondering who it could be at this hour.

It’s Will.

**Thanks again for the coffee, and for waiting for me. I had a really good time.**

There go those face muscles again.

_Thank you to you too. It was fun, we should do it again. I enjoy your company. Get some sleep Dr. Solace. Goodnight :)_

**Goodnight Nico. Sleep well :)**

That night, I fall asleep with a smile on my face and Will Solace in my dreams.


	8. Will: Bully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will accidentally tells Jax that Bryce was at Arcadian Sharpe's last gig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive comments! It warms my heart reading them. As promised, here is the Em/Bryce backstory. I hope it's not confusing to read, I tried to make it flow as best as I could. Unless otherwise indicated, it's probably safe to assume Em is still talking
> 
> Also I'm sorry, this chapter is my definition of kind of short.

“Blame the family,  
Blame the bully.  
Blame it on me,  
Maybe she needed to be wanted.”

Five Things I Learned About Nico di Angelo on Our Not-A-Date Coffee Date:

1\. His favourite colour is blue (black is technically a shade)  
2\. His guilty pleasure band is Down With Webster  
3\. He can speak four languages: English, Italian, French, and Latin  
4\. He’s a cat person  
5\. His middle name is Giovanni

Nico Giovanni di Angelo.

A beautiful name for a beautiful man.

I mean, yeah. Nico is hot, adorable, sexy. While those words describe him, they aren’t what I would use to _capture_ him. He’s beautiful, and I don’t just mean on the outside.

He’s damaged, I know. He’s suffered through more pain than anyone should at his age. He’s battled both heartache and loss. He’s reached rock-bottom, ready to remove himself from the world completely, permanently.

Call me crazy, but it only makes me like him more.

It gives him a special sort of depth that’s not easy to find in someone, a depth made up of complexity and questions that keep you on your toes, constantly wondering. I find him more and more fascinating every time I learn something new about him, whether it be his favourite colour or that he’s never been to a fair.

I’ve never felt this way about someone.

Nico challenges me, makes me think. He can put a unique twist on a situation where the solution seemed so blatantly obvious. He makes me laugh and smile. I feel as though he carries the capability of bringing out the best and the worst in me.

It’s both enticing and petrifying.

The catalytic converter in my beat-up Volkswagen broke sometime in the middle of November; Em has been kind enough to offer a carpool, considering my apartment complex isn’t too far from her house, and we’re both going to the same place anyway. I take the bus on the days she has off.

One particularly chilly day, my phone pings with about an hour left of my shift. It’s been an oddly slow day, so I cheat and check it at the desk. It’s a message from Jax.

_Hey, Will. How would you like a ride home from work instead of waiting for the bus in this nasty weather? My bio lab finishes in half an hour and I have to drive right past the hospital. Let me know_

Oh, yay. I won’t have to face the wind.

I reply right away, thanking him and accepting his gracious offer. It makes the remainder of my shift fly, thankfully occupied by the sorting of patient files to have ready for the night crew.

Don’t ask me how this conversation got started, because I don’t know. Jax is telling me about Arcadian Sharpe’s next gig, coming up on the approaching Saturday; the sentence slips out before I have time to process it.

“I hope that Bryce guy doesn’t show up to this one.”

He slams on the brakes so hard and so fast I lurch forward, getting choked by the seatbelt.

“What did you just say, Will?”

_Oh. Shit. Fuck. Damn!_

“Nothing,” I say quickly, staring at my lap, out the window, anything to keep my eyes from meeting his.

“Bryce was there?”

Jax’s tone turns to cold, steely ice. He’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles are strained white.

“Well…I mean…yeah. He was there.”

“Did he see her? What happened? Where was I?!”

I still refuse to look at him, honestly afraid of the rage in his eyes burning a hole in the side of my skull. “You were outside, having a smoke. He just appeared out of nowhere; he started harassing Nico, calling him all these awful names. He threw his drink at us. Em stopped him before it got any worse.”

“Did he touch her?”

I stumble, hurrying to come up with some on-the-spot lie to feed him, forgetting the very real fact that I’m a horrible liar.

“Will,” Jax seethes, “Did. He. Put. His. Hands. On. My. Girlfriend.”

I nod anxiously, squeezing my eyes shut and commencing a nervous bite on my lower lip. The next thing I know, I’m being thrown into the passenger side door; Jax pulls a nauseatingly fast U-turn and launches an illegal speed race in the opposite direction.

“Jax,” I gasp, scrambling for a decent hold on the holy shit handle, “Where are we going? What are you doing?”

He ignores me, keeping his eyes locked on the road and his hands on the wheel. We drive for maybe five minutes in silence, my stomach lurching violently every time he rips around a corner or slams to a stop at an inconvenient red light.

Finally, he stops, sending me into another straining collision with my seatbelt. I don’t recognize this area of town; we seem to be on a mostly deserted street, the few open shops on it providing a strip of cracked neon lighting. There’s a dark, cavernous alley to my left; in the glow of the signs, I’m able to barely make out a group huddled around a trash-can fire.

“Stay in the car,” Jax barks at me, undoing his seatbelt.

“What?” I manage, my heart thudding in my ears. “What are you doing?”

“Just stay in the damn car, Will. Don’t get out. I mean it.”

He pushes the door open with an incredible amount of force; I’m shocked it remains fixed on its hinges. He slams it just as hard, jogging across the street towards the alley, yanking his hood over his head.

_Oh my gods. Oh my gods, oh my gods, holy shit._

_What is HAPPENING?_

The mere thought of disobeying Jax causes my heart to threaten an explosion out of my chest cavity. I rake my hands through my hair, grabbing fistfuls of blonde curls and pulling hard enough to feel pain. I pick a specific spot on my shoe and focus on it, hard, channeling all my energy into it.

_Breathe, Will. In, out. In, out._

But then the shouting starts, shattering my headspace and causing me to downright panic.

I can’t stay in the car. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.

I can’t wrap my head around how my legs are steady enough to get me out of the car and propel me across the street. I’m assaulted by the wind, stinging my face with its icy bite. The shouting is much more intense out here.

The group of guys have turned into a circle, surrounding the fight like a flock of vultures around roadkill. Everyone is yelling encouragements like “Come on, Bryce, get him!” and “Do it, hit him again!”

Jax and Bryce are going at each other in the center of the circle. Jax may have Bryce beat in the height category, but Bryce is easily heavier, packed with bigger muscles. Already, there’s a blossoming bruise on Jax’s jaw, a scrape on his cheek, and an actively bleeding cut on his eyebrow. Bryce has two trickles of blood dripping from his nose.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from my girlfriend!” Jax snaps, twisting Bryce’s arm behind his back.

“Your girlfriend is a fucking tease,” Bryce spits back. He yanks his elbow backwards, narrowly missing Jax’s throat. “You’re just jealous because I fucked her before you did!”

“You never fucked her!”

“How would you know, Barlow?” Bryce punches Jax in the stomach; he doubles over in pain, collapsing to the ground when a second punch is delivered to his jaw. “Mr. Fucking Perfect Valedictorian. You’ve got no idea the shit I did to her before you came into the room. Don’t believe any bullshit lie she tells you. She _liked it_.”

The look in Jax’s eyes is murderous. He kicks Bryce in the kneecap, struggling to bring himself to his feet. “If you EVER touch her again, I SWEAR I will KILL you!” he roars, shoving all his weight into Bryce’s large shoulders.

Bryce retaliates with a second gut punch, followed quickly by a third. Once Jax crumples to the ground in a heap, Bryce gives him a swift kick in the ribs.

I can’t take this anymore.

“Hey!”

The circle parts, giving Bryce a clear view of me. He kicks Jax again, his hand travelling to something tucked inside his jacket pocket. “Did you bring backup, Smarty Pants?” he jeers, sauntering towards me. “Another person for me to beat the crap out of?”

“Leave him alone!” I order, adrenaline coursing through my body.

Bryce scoffs, sending a pebble in my direction. “Hey, I know you. You were at the bar, hanging around the faggot goth kid. Don’t you know anything about fights, sunny boy? You don’t back down when someone else picks it.”

“I told you to stay in the car, Will!” Jax groans, stumbling to stand. “Go back to the car!”

“You’re a piece of shit,” I snap at Bryce, embracing all my anger for the first time in my life. My hands are curling into tight fights, ready to swing. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Bryce’s laugh is cold and cruel. “Actually, I think you and your boy invaded on _my_ territory. So why don’t _you_ fuck off? You wouldn’t last two seconds in a fight.”

He’s in close proximity now. So, I do what feels natural.

I swing, connecting square with his big, fat mouth.

Bryce staggers backwards, toppling over his own weight, hitting the ground hard on his ass. My hands are shaking, knuckles already turning blue.

It grows eerily quiet, the lone sound I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

Bryce is up faster than he fell. He pulls out a knife from his pocket, flicking it open.

“Will!”

“Bryce!”

Jax and some other guy are suddenly between us, holding out their hands in plea for us to stop. “Don’t bother, Bryce,” the guy says, nodding his head sideways. “They’re not worth it, and you know it. You can’t afford to get caught.”

Bryce huffs, kissing his teeth. His bottom lip is swelling by the second.

“Get them out of here. Don’t even think about coming back. Or I won’t think about this.” He slides the blade of his knife over the pad of his thumb, the far-off glaze in his eyes giving me the strong impression he’s considering it right now.

I wrap my arm around Jax’s shoulder to support his weight, half-dragging, half-helping him back to the car. He coughs; blood stains his teeth.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” I say. “You need to see a doctor.”

“I told you to stay in the car,” he pants, not arguing about my assertion to seek medical attention.

“You might have died if I listened to you. I don’t think Em would forgive me for that.”

 

Manhattan General’s emergency room waiting area is notoriously crowded. The triage nurse takes one look at Jax’s bruised and bloody face and ushers him into a semi-closed area for assessment.

“Why didn’t you contact the police?” she asks as she checks his vitals.

“No need to get the police involved, ma’am,” Jax mumbles. “My girlfriend will give me enough grief when she gets here.”

“Rightfully so,” I mutter when she walks away to ready a room for us. “Jax, what were you thinking?”

He sighs, wincing as he clutches his side. “I wasn’t. I never think when it comes to Bryce. I just feel.”

“And act, apparently.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

I grimace. His jaw is bruising fast, his eye and cheek both swollen like balloons. Just from first glance, I know they’ll need stitches. “It’s pretty bad, man.”

The nurse comes back and tells us to follow her, leading us to an empty cubicle. “The doctor will see you right away,” she says, “We need to get you stitched up and into x-ray. I’ll go contact the person you have on file.”

I have a strong feeling I’ll be able to hear Em’s reaction to that phone call all the way over here.

The doctor on call-Dr. Parker-asks us a series of basic questions about the fight, both Jax and I purposefully leaving out the part where we actually start it. He examines Jax’s injuries carefully, asking him where it hurts the most.

“It’s not that bad,” Jax tries, gasping in pain the second Dr. Parker’s hand touches his side.

“I’m suspecting broken ribs,” Dr. Parker muses, scribbling on the chart in his hands. “We’ll take some x-rays of those. I want to look at your chest and face as well. Sound good?”

“Yes, sir,” Jax says.

To my surprise, Cecil’s the one working x-ray tonight. We don’t have to wait very long before he pokes his head around the curtain, his hands wrapped around the handles of a wheelchair.

“I’m here to take someone for x-rays,” he announces, pulling the curtain open all the way. “Will? What are you doing here?”

It’s just now occurred to me that I’ve never been involved in even the smallest of a fist fight, so this probably looks beyond strange to Cecil. “I was just transportation,” I tell him.

“You punched Bryce in the mouth and knocked him to the ground,” Jax says, not agreeing with my discredit to my involvement in the situation. Cecil’s eyes bulge.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he demands. He pats the seat of the wheelchair. “Do you think you’ll be able to get into my chair, Jackson?”

“Just Jax is fine,” Jax says, wriggling himself to the edge of the bed and slowly shifting his weight into the chair, a groan whistling between his clenched teeth. “God, that hurts.”

“We’ll be back,” Cecil tells me, flashing me his mischievous grin.

They manage to make it around the corner out of sight when Em comes flying down the hallway, her auburn curls whipping behind her. Nico is hot on her tail, his face twisted in equal concern.

“They just took him for x-rays,” I say before Em has the chance to open her mouth and commence a full-blown freak out. She exhales hastily, lowering herself onto the edge of the stretcher.

“Will,” Nico addresses me, his forehead creased with worry, “What happened?” His concern makes my heart skip a beat; a lump of guilt rises in my throat.

“I may or may not have mentioned Bryce’s attendance to your show a few weeks ago…”

Em catapults off the bed, hair flying, arms flailing. “You did WHAT?! Will! I told you not to say anything!”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” I insist. “It just kind of slipped out by accident!”

Em presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Do you see why I told you that now? I knew he would react like this!”

“Yeah, well I didn’t! He slammed on the brakes so hard and turned around so fast, I almost got whiplash!”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

I look down at my bruised knuckles, flexing my hand. I feel no pain. “I’m fine. I only threw one punch.”

“You punched someone?!” Nico exclaims, incredulous.

“Why is that such a big deal? It was Bryce. I’m sure we all want to punch Bryce.”

“Well, yeah,” Nico agrees, taking Em’s spot on the stretcher, “But you don’t seem like the fighting type.”

“You don’t seem like the _drinker of chai tea lattes_ type, but you are.”

He scoffs at me, averting my eyes.

Cecil wheels Jax back into the room, who’s wearing a huge, toothy smile like he’s well aware of the trouble he’s about to get into. Cecil helps him shuffle back onto the bed; the grin remains plastered on his face in between breaks of pain.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Em snaps, smacking her hands to her hips. “Don’t you smile at me like that with your big blue doe eyes.”

“I love you, Em.”

“Yeah, I love you, too, but I’m still mad at you! What the hell, Jax!”

“Don’t yell at him, Em,” I interrupt, hesitating to reach for her arm. “It’s not his fault, it’s mine.”

“I’m mad at you, too!”

“Em.” Nico scoots to trap himself in the corner of the cramped room. “Do we need to deep breathe together?”

“Not helping, Nico!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you saw him, Em?” Jax asks, shifting himself to a half-seated position. “You could have told me the next day.”

“Because I didn’t want something like this to happen.” She runs her hand in an up and down motion through the air, covering the length of Jax’s beaten body. “You are so lucky Will broke it up and not the cops!”

“Okay, time out.” Nico steps forward, making a capital T with his hands. “What is the deal with this Bryce? What could he have done that would automatically put Jax into attack mode?”

Jax’s face goes slack. “You didn’t even tell them?”

I move to stand beside Nico. “Tell us what?”

Em sighs, taking a seat next to Jax. He laces his fingers with hers.

“The story of how Jax and I met.”

Nico’s brow furrows, confused. “You told me that story already,” he says. “You met on your last day of high school.”

“No.” Em shakes her head. “I mean the _real_ story.”

 

I’m not prepared for this story.

Nico sits on the arm of my plastic chair, close enough for our shoulders to touch. It’s all I can do not to put my hand on his knee.

“It was the last day of school, the day of graduation. I was valedictorian. And while I spent my final days prepping my farewell speech, making sure it was nothing less than perfect, the rest of my senior class was busy gossiping about what was described as The Party of the Century.

Bryce Lawrence’s mansion acreage party.

Anyone who was anyone knew Bryce Lawrence. He was co-captain of the football and basketball teams, student-body president, and a class A jackass. He got more action than half our class combined.”

“I wonder what happened,” Nico mutters in my ear, his sweet breath tickling my neck. “I wouldn’t do that guy if he was the last man on Earth and I was still a virgin.”

I stifle a giggle behind my hand; Em lifts her eyebrow, refraining from comment.

“My best friend at the time, Shay, bugged me the entire year to go out with her. She was convinced I was drowning in a life of textbooks and head-banging music, and I didn’t know the definition of fun. She was one of the first ones who clicked “attending” on Bryce’s Facebook page for the party. So, after two weeks of constant nagging, I finally caved. I told her I would go with her.”

I already don’t like where this is going. Unconsciously, my hand clasps around Nico’s knee. He flinches in the slightest, then his hand comes on top of mine.

“Aidan was not supportive of my plan. He tried over and over again to talk me out of it, to convince me to stay home like I always do. For once, I ignored him, determined to live outside of my little bubble, even if it was only for a few hours. Shay picked me up, and we stopped at the liquor store so she could gather her usual starting line-up: birthday cake vodka, a bottle of Moscato wine, a six-pack of Bacardi Breezers, and the biggest bottle of Jägermeister they sold.

We could hear the music thumping from half a mile away. Cars were parked down the entire stretch of gravel road on both sides. It was still early, but the place was already swarming with drunk kids.

Shay stayed by my side for the first hour, providing me with a constant supply of pre-mixed vodka lemonades. I lost count on how many I had, but it was a lot. Not enough to make me wasted; tipsy, maybe, not wasted.

All of a sudden, Shay was gone, leaving me vulnerable and alone in an unfamiliar place. Not knowing what else to do, I started searching for her. I stumbled around the entire perimeter of the property, absently calling her name, never greeted by a response. So, I turned my exploration to inside the house.

The house was trashed for the most part-empty beer cans and liquor bottles littered the floor, the garbage cans were overflowing with junk food trash, and I don’t even want to talk about the state of the main floor bathroom. I could feel the effects of the alcohol starting to wear off: my vision was less hazy and my head felt stuffed with pebbles instead of rocks. I poked my head inside every room I could get the door open and still no Shay. I turned around to go back outside and…there he was.”

Nico’s fingers squeeze mine tightly. He doesn’t take his eyes off Em.

“He acted more drunk than he really was. He changed as soon as he realized the wasted cool guy act wasn’t working on me. He got strong, violent, shoving me into the closest room that held a bed. I tried to fight him, to pry his fingers off my arms, my legs, but his grip was like steel. He pinned me down with his legs and stripped off my shirt, covering me in these sloppy, wet kisses. His hands grabbed every part of me he could reach.

I started shouting, calling for help; he slapped me across the face and stuffed my own shirt in my mouth, smothering it with his hand so I couldn’t breathe. “ _Shut up_ ,” he hissed. “ _We’re just having fun, alright?_ ”

No, it was not alright. I was not having fun. I wanted him to stop.

But he didn’t. He didn’t stop.

He finally took his hand off my mouth so he could fiddle with the buttons on my shorts. He began assaulting my neck, sucking bruises onto my sensitive flesh, biting so hard I was sure he’d broken skin. I spat my shirt out of my mouth and screamed as loud as I possibly could over and over again, praying someone would hear me.

For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Bryce managed to clumsily undo my shorts. I was so scared; I couldn’t even think. He had me in my underwear when the door burst open.”

_Oh. My. Gods._

My heart is pounding worse than it did when I clambered out of Jax’s car. My stomach is cramping so bad I want to curl up in a ball on the floor until it subsides.

“I don’t know if I can hear the rest of this,” Nico grumbles, leaning against my arm.

“The worst part is over,” Em comforts. “I promise.”

“I didn’t have a clue who my rescuer was; he yelled at Bryce to get off me and leave me alone. He called him a prick and a dick and a pig and other names I can’t remember. Bryce reluctantly released his grip on my arms and pushed his knees off my legs. He called the other guy a bitch and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

My primary instinct was to scream at the guy, tell him not to fucking touch me. He held up his hands in surrender, swearing he wouldn’t come any closer and that he would let me get dressed, promising not to look. Promising he wouldn’t hurt me. He introduced himself as Jackson, Jackson Barlow.”

I clap my hand over my mouth, gasping. “It was you.”

Jax nods. “I was picking up one of my friends, who was dating a girl in Em’s grade. Like Shay, he was nowhere to be found; I had just concluded my inside search when I heard her screaming.”

“So…he didn’t _do_ anything to you…right? Anything like _that_?”

Em shakes her head. “He would have, if Jax hadn’t of gotten there when he did.”

“I wish I punched him more than once,” I snarl, doused in anger all over again.

“I wish I’d been there to punch him,” Nico adds. “What a fucking asshole.”

Em gently leans on Jax’s good shoulder. He brushes a kiss on the top of her head. “Jax took me outside and we called Aidan to ask him to come pick me up. We didn’t tell him what happened, not until he got there. He walked straight into the house and came out five minutes later sporting two swollen hands. He frostily thanked Jax and ordered me to get in the car.

“Rumour has it the cops came an hour later to shut the party down. The next time I saw Bryce-almost three weeks later-he had two black eyes and a busted lip.”

“Aidan kicked the shit out of Bryce,” I say, impressed.

She nods. “He always said he would stop at nothing to protect me. Bryce may not have been totally smashed, but he was drunk enough to not remember who stopped him. Because Aidan’s the one who hit him, he assumes it was him. Ever since Aidan died, Bryce comes around every once in a while, thinking he’ll be able to finish what he started with me.”

Dr. Parker chooses to come into the cubicle, giving the gravity of our conversation a weightless break. His face is neutral.

“Mr. Barlow, I’ve received the results of your x-rays. The good news is, your chest looks clear, meaning no fluid build-up, and there are no fractures in your face. The bad news is you have three cracked ribs. Not splintered, just cracked, which is a blessing, trust me. They will heal on their own, however I’m going to send you home with a prescription to help ease the pain.” His pen whips across his prescription pad. “And, next time, try to stay out of it, okay?”

“Yes, Dr. Parker,” Jax says, avoiding the I told you so look Em is giving him.

“Thank you, Dr. Parker,” Em repeats, turning her disappointed stare into a sweet smile once he finishes stitching Jax's cuts. “Come on, let’s all get ourselves home.”

 

“I’ll drive Will home,” Nico suggests once we’re back out in the parking lot. The shadows of the lights bring out the buried softness in his dark eyes. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure.” I nod. “That would be great. Then Em can get her patient home to bed.”

“Shut up, Will,” Jax mumbles, woozy from his first dose of painkillers.

Em and Jax take the Rubicon; Nico and I crawl back into Jax’s car. I have to inspect the passenger seat for bloodstains before I sit.

The ride is rather quiet, Nico not even bothering to turn on the radio and sing along to whatever punk song it plays. After hearing Em’s story, I’m not exactly in the mood for noise, rather enjoying the quiet that I’m hoping will calm my nerves.

“You sure you’re okay, Will?”

Nico’s soft voice jars my thoughts, getting me out of my own head. I squeeze my punching hand into a fist, still not feeling any sort of ache.

“I’m okay,” I tell him.

“I can’t believe you actually punched Bryce Lawrence in the face.”

“ _I_ can’t believe I punched Bryce Lawrence in the face.”

It’s quiet again.

“Will?”

“Yes, Nico?”

He sighs, slowing to a stop at a changing light. “I was really worried about you. I thought something really bad happened. I’m…glad you’re okay.”

An excited tingle shoots down my spine. “I’m okay, Nico. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m going to, anyway.”

Quiet.

“I can’t believe someone would do that to her,” he seethes, tapping angrily on the steering wheel. “I mean, she’s so…So…”

“Yeah.” I exhale quietly. “I know.”

We pull up in front of my apartment complex. Nico shuts the engine off, making no motion for me to get out of the car.

“You know, Nico,” I say, “For what it’s worth, I worry about you, too.”

Nico blushes, twiddling his thumbs. “Of course you do. Everybody worries about someone once they become suicidal.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

I smile at my lap. “If someone did to you what Bryce did to Em, I would act out just like Jax. I’d hunt that son of a bitch down and beat him with every fibre I had.”

“Yes, Will, because you’re so skilled when it comes to winning a fight.”

I chuckle. “Come on, give me a little credit.”

“Fine.” His laugh mimics mine, but it’s so much better. “I would do the same for you, you know.”

“You would?”

He nods. “Nobody hurts the people I care about.”

_The people I care about._

_Nico_ cares _about me._

I press the back of my head into the headrest, closing my eyes for a moment. “Do you want to come inside for a bit?” I ask spontaneously.

Nico’s lips part slightly; he smiles a little smile and shakes his head slowly. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “I should get home, see if Em needs any help. I’m not saying no, I’m just saying not now.”

“I get it.” I rest my hand on the door handle. “I’m gonna head up, then. It’s been a long day.”

“Alright. See you, Will. Sleep well.”

“Text me when you get home?”

He nods. “I will. Promise. Oh, and Will?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”


	9. Nico: The Sound of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The person Nico turns to after a nightmare? Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long to update. I ended up starting work a week early. I will try to be more consistent with updating. As always, thank you so much for reading!

“Hello darkness, my old friend,  
I’ve come to talk with you again.  
Because a vision softly creeping,  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping.”

Bianca throws her head back in laughter, her chocolate waves a dark waterfall cascading down her back. Her cheeks are rosy, eyes closed and crinkling in the corners the way they do when she laughs. She looks so young like this, sitting next to me on the couch, wrapped in the shadows of our cramped living room and bathed in the light from the television. I don’t know what we’re watching, but I do know I want to watch it on repeat, because I want to cling to the sound that is her laugh. I want to hold onto it and never let it go, and then maybe, just maybe, I won’t know what it feels like to forget it.

I’m so afraid of forgetting her.

Losing her was one thing. But forgetting her?

That is unforgiveable.

We’re running through the forest, a secluded constellation of huge maple trees perfect for climbing, the soles of our shoes pounding a series of prints into the earth. We invented this game together last summer, composed of no rules or even a name, we just simply call it The Game. It’s juvenilely uncomplicated: run as fast as you can, discover new paths, climb trees, and don’t get caught. We take turns being it, chasing each other around and around until we’re blinded by the obscurities of the woods, forced to go back home.

She comes home crying after a date with the local boy. She tries to hide it when she first steps into the living room, swiping at her eyes and slapping a weak smile on her already tear-stained face. One look at me, sitting on the couch, unexpectedly waiting up for her, and she breaks down, throwing herself beside me and burying her face in my lap. I twirl my fingers through her hair, letting her cry it out, inside wanting to kill this boy who hurt my sister.

We’ve decided to make tiramisu for Ma’s birthday because it’s her favourite. Bianca puts herself in charge of the wet ingredients and soaking the lady fingers; I’m in charge of measuring and mixing the dry ingredients. A big responsibility for an eight-year-old, one I take very seriously. Things go well until I get to the flour. I’m shakily holding an overflowing measuring cup with both hands, attempting to turn around to ask Bianca if this will be enough when she turns around at the same time to give me another job. We collide. There’s flour all over us and all over the floor. She grins devilishly, smashing a whole egg on my head. I dump the bowl of the ingredients I already measured out down her shirt. We’re squealing and laughing and shrieking, and our kitchen is getting messier by the second. Ma doesn’t get her tiramisu. And we have to clean up the kitchen.

She’s cradling the fresh herbs in her lap, fingers tracing the outline of the parsley leaves. The winter sun is catching the softer highlights in her hair. Her eyes have gone from fresh espresso to homemade caramel, framed by long, thick eyelashes. She smiles at me as I sing along to Fall Out Boy.

The truck has skidded off the side of the highway. It’s flipped on its top; the windshield is a flurry of cracks, ready to break from even the lightest of touches. The passenger side door is smashed in, window completely gone. The tire is bent, rim hanging on by a single nut. The semi-truck that hit us is damaged too, its entire front end smushed like a pancake. I can see the driver slumped at the wheel, suffocated by the aftermath of the airbag explosion.

There are three ambulances and two police cars, all of the sirens on and wailing. They manage to yank open our demolished door, showered in broken glass and droplets of blood. Bianca’s blood.

“There’s two in here!”

The driver’s side door is crooked on the hinges, jammed shut. The paramedics need a crowbar to pry it open, slashing at the deflating airbag. My seatbelt is cutting into my neck. My nose is bleeding profusely. I can’t look at my sister’s limp, lifeless, bloody body, tossed like a ragdoll next to me.

One of the paramedics is shaking her head even before Bianca is pulled from the wreckage. Two other ones come up with the equipment to check vitals.

Nothing.

The body bag is a horrible shade of yellow. There are no handles.

There are no handles on that bag. How are they going to pick her up?

One paramedic on each end. They heave the bag up. And they throw my sister into the back of one of the ambulances.

 

I wake up drenched in sweat. My hair is sticky, clinging to my forehead and the back of my neck. Tears are running down my cheeks, hot and thick and fast.

_Ohmygodsohmygodsohmygods._

Agony washes over my body, clawing at my chest, squeezing and pulling so tight I can’t breathe. My fingers dig into my forearms, desperate for a different feeling, any feeling but this unbearable numbness.

There are so many scars already. What’s a few more?

_No._

_We’re_ stronger _than that place, Nico._

The first person I think of is Will. His golden curls, his sky blue eyes, his easygoing smile, his abundance of freckles, his sweet voice. The tears slow to a stop.

Then Em. The way she sings, her girlish laugh, the feeling of her hands in mine, matching our breaths. I can feel my hands again.

But I know I won’t be able to salvage any more sleep.

I tiptoe downstairs, deciding watching late-night TV is a better idea than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Maybe it’ll help me fall back asleep.

There’s a skinny strip of light at the bottom of the stairs; Jax is sitting in the big recliner, staring emptily at the blank TV screen, his hands cupped around a small tumbler full of caramel liquid.

“Jax?”

“Hey.” His voice is congested and raw.

“What are you doing up?”

“Sitting here,” he answers blankly. Whatever he’s drinking sloshes around in his glass. “What are you doing up? It’s two-thirty in the morning.”

I gingerly lower myself into the corner of the couch closest to him, turning my body sideways so my knees are pressed against the armrest. “I-I had a nightmare about my sister.”

Jax hums, sipping his drink. His irises are a milky grey colour, wide open and empty.

“I have nightmares sometimes, too.”

A frigid, sick feeling snakes down my spine. I forget he was the one who found Em on their bathroom floor. “Is that why you’re up?” I ask shyly.

He hums again, blinking slowly as if he were waking from a deep sleep. “They don’t happen so often anymore. But they’re so vivid. So real. It’s like I’m mandated to relive it all over again.” He chokes out a scoff.

“I will never know how the operator understood anything I was saying. I was so distraught.”

He sniffs and clears his throat, his eyes shiny with tears. Merely looking at him makes me want to phone Jason and Piper, wake them up so I can tell them I love them.

Suddenly my body is being propelled forward, taking three big steps to him; I climb onto the arm of the chair and put my arms around his shoulders.

Jax shudders in surprise (obviously, because when was the last time I willingly hugged someone?) before his arms wrap around mine. He sighs loudly; the burning scent of bourbon wafts into my nose.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“For what? You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I dunno. Not being okay right now.”

I find myself chuckling, the good-natured humour vibrating in my throat and warming my insides. “Someone once told me it was okay to not be okay sometimes.”

Jax leans back to give me a quizzical look. “Was that person Em?”

“Maybe. She’s right.”

He laughs too, though it appears a forced struggle. He swirls his glass in a lazy circle, sighing a second time.

“Do you always drink when this happens?” I ask. “That’s not a very good habit to get in to.”

“Good thing it doesn’t happen often,” Jax answers, simultaneously shaking his head. “I always pour myself a drink, thinking it’ll have some sort of tranquility effect to get me to go back to sleep, but it always tastes like shit after about three or four swigs. I just end up pouring it down the drain.”

“And then what?”

He shrugs weakly. “It depends. Sometimes I sit here awake all night, sometimes I fall back asleep and Em wakes me up before she goes to work, sometimes I go back upstairs and lay beside her just so I know she’s still breathing.”

A flash of a different nightmare clouds my mind, the one I had about Em’s attempt back when I was in the hospital. I blink furiously; I can’t let myself think about that, not right now. “If it makes you feel better, I usually can’t get back to sleep after I have nightmares, either.”

Jax’s laugh comes naturally this time. “It is nice to not have to sit here alone.”

“Does Em know you still have nightmares?”

A light pink blush steadily stains Jax’s cheeks; he looks down at his drink, avoiding my eyes.

“I don’t always tell her. She has enough on her plate. I don’t want to worry her.”

“What are you guys doing up?”

We both jump at the sound of her voice. I scramble off the armchair and dive back to my original spot on the couch. Em steps between us, cutting off the pathway of light.

“What are you guys doing up?” she repeats.

Even in a ratty old Rolling Stones t-shirt with her hair slapped into a messy ponytail, the expression in Em’s eyes as she shifts her gaze between me and Jax intimidates me, like we’re two young boys who got caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. I know she probably isn’t mad, more curious and concerned.

“We wanted to watch the tennis game,” Jax says, his eyes screaming back me up, dude! “And you know, with the time-change and stuff, that’s why we’re up.”

“You hate tennis,” Em deadpans, “And it’s almost December. Nico?” She stares at me under narrowed eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Uhm…”

Em gasps. “You’ve been crying. Did you have nightmares?”

Unable to lie to her, I cave, nodding my head.

“Both of you?”

Jax stalls for a second and then nods too.

She releases a long, slow breath. “Okay, hang on. Let me go put on some pants.”

Her shirt is so long I wouldn’t have known she wasn’t wearing any in the first place.

When she comes back downstairs, Em tells Jax to sit on the couch with me while she does something in the kitchen. She comes to join us, balancing three mugs in her hands.

“What is this?” I ask her, wrapping my hands around the cup’s warmth. The liquid inside is steaming scents of peppermint and lemongrass.

“Herbal tea.” Em shimmies herself in between me and Jax. “It’s soothing. It’ll help you sleep.” She sets her own mug down on the coffee table and wraps one of her arms around each of us. Jax immediately settles down, nestling his head in the crook of her shoulder.

“What are we doing?”

“It’s called cuddling, Nico. Come here.”

I can’t even remember the last time I cuddled with someone, someone who wasn’t Bianca or my mom. I think Jax can sense my hesitation, because he cracks open one eye and smiles lazily at me.

“Take it, Nico. I don’t share my girlfriend’s cuddles very often.”

Em’s body is cozy against mine. Her skin smells like vanilla and shea butter. I allow my head to rest on her shoulder and she runs her fingers through my hair. The nauseating nightmare knot tangled in my stomach loosens.

We sit in silence for a couple minutes; I zero my attention on the rise and fall motions of Em’s shoulder, aiming to copy the ins and outs of her breaths.

“Sing?” Jax asks in a tired voice, disrupting the stillness.

“You want me to sing to you, baby?” Em says, placing a chaste kiss on the top of his head. He nods and snuggles closer to her.

“Okay.”

“Tonight, looking back on all this life,  
It’s funny how the time goes by.  
And how, sometimes,  
It slides away.

Time, sliding through the dead of night,  
You’re shaking til you start to cry.  
Your eyes won’t dry,  
Til light of day.

And sleep away,  
Don’t let it go.  
Don’t let it fade.  
Your dreams may cave,  
And falling apart is the only way.  
We go so low,  
When you don’t know,  
I will.

I will.

And if you go,  
Take a little piece of me.  
Hang it by the place you sleep,  
And dream of me.  
Don’t leave.”

The song sounds familiar, but I can’t think of its name. By the time Em finishes singing it, Jax is fast asleep. She looks down at him and smiles, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

“Works every time.”

As we go back to sitting in silence, another memory flashes before my eyes, this one much softer, almost calming. I scoot my hips closer to Em, adjusting the position of my head on her shoulder.

“Em?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you sing to me when I was in the hospital?”

Her eyes light up as she smiles. “I didn’t think you would ever remember that.”

“So you did.”

She nods. “It was my first set of nights after you got admitted. You woke up screaming bloody murder, thrashing around in your sheets with tears streaming down your face. You wouldn’t wake up. We tried everything, but you just kept screaming and crying. You kicked at us every time we tried to get near you. I was panicking, and I didn’t know what else to do. So, I started to sing. Dr. Blofis thought I was crazy.

“It took a few lines, but you calmed down. You quit screaming. The tears stopped. And eventually you fell back asleep.” Her hands stroke my hair again.

“Dr. Blofis brought me coffee the next night and apologized for shitting on my tactics.”

I find my eyes drifting shut. “Do you remember the song you sang?”

“I do,” she says. “Why?”

“Can you sing it now?”

“Of course I can.”

“Well I know the feeling,  
Of finding yourself stuck out on the ledge.  
And there ain’t no healing,  
From cutting yourself with the jagged edge.

I’m telling you that, it’s never that bad,  
Take it from someone who’s been where you’re at.  
Laid out on the floor and you’re not sure,  
You can take this anymore.

So just give it one more try to a lullaby,  
And turn this up on the radio.  
If you can hear me now, I’m reaching out,  
To let you know that you’re not alone.  
And you can’t tell I’m scared as hell,  
‘Cause I can’t get you on the telephone.  
So just close your eyes.  
Well honey, here comes a lullaby.  
Your very own lullaby.”

Sleep is taking me, wrapping my body in quilts made of warmth and softness. My mind is clear, removed from the darkened abyss buried deep within it. Em’s voice is sweet in my ear, her hands gentle in my hair.

This time, I welcome sleep’s darkness with open arms.

* * *

I wake up freezing.

I’m curled up in a tight ball on the couch, the blanket once probably draped over me by Em or Jax tossed carelessly on the floor. It’s snowing outside, the sky a damp, dreary grey as thick, fluffy flakes drift to dust the ground. I reach down to grab the blanket and wrap it around myself tightly, craving any sort of heat I can get.

There’s a subtle pain behind my eyes. I’m used to this pain, even given it the nickname “post-nightmare nonsense”. It’s always the same, settled in the back of my eye sockets and fingering its way around the circumference of my skull. I remove the pillow from beneath my head and clap it over my face, burrowing deeper into the couch and gripping the blanket with my free hand.

I try to forget about the memories succumbed from last night, except for the sound of Em’s singing voice. The house is eerily quiet, permitting me to hear the sound of every creak and moan.

“Well everybody’s hit the bottom,  
And everybody’s been forgotten.  
Well everybody’s tired of being alone.  
Yeah, everybody’s been abandoned,  
And left a little empty-handed.  
So if you’re out there barely hanging on.”

I finally give myself enough energy to tumble off the couch and head upstairs to shower, dragging my blanket along behind me. The water is scalding hot; I stand underneath it, letting it strip away any sort of negative emotion I can find in myself. I can’t stand the thought of spending the whole day alone, wandering around with my headphones in the way I used to in the midst of my depression.

Will’s name is at the top of my messages list.

_Please don’t ask me how I know you have today off, and please tell me you don’t have plans._

**Not unless you count binge-watching Breaking Bad as plans. Why? You ok??**

_No…do you want to come over? I’ve never seen Breaking Bad._

**I’ll be there in 20.**

Will shows up exactly twenty minutes later wearing faded jeans and a navy blue NYU School of Medicine hoodie. His eyes are wide, bluer than blue in contrast to the gloomy day.

“Are you okay?” he questions before he even steps in the door. “What’s going on?”

I stuff my hands deep into the pockets of my sweats. “I don’t want to talk about it while snow is blowing in. Shut the door and come inside.”

We sit side-by-side on the couch. Will smells like his regular sandalwood/chocolate/pine combination, this time mingled by cold, fresh air rather than antiseptic. It’s all I can do not to rest my head on his shoulder and breathe him in.

“What’s going on, Nico?”

My head falls against the back of the couch, Will’s eyes burning a hole in my right temple. I crane my neck sideways in order to meet his gaze.

“I had a rough night last night.”

Will’s face falls. “Nightmares?”

I nod microscopically. “Did you know there are no handles on a body bag?”

“I did, actually. How do you know that?”

I struggle give him an answer, one that isn’t going to turn me numb. Will shifts his body; I’m enveloped in a rush of delicious warmth.

“Did you see your sister get put in a body bag?”

I can only nod once, my shoulders and neck stiff as a board. “It was such an ugly yellow colour. And then they picked her up and they just threw her in the back of the ambulance like some kind of useless parcel. Like she wasn’t a real person.”

Will’s arms are around me. My first natural instinct is to squirm away, because I’m not one for physical contact, but it’s different with Will. He holds me tight against his chest, his chin resting near the top of my head while his hands massage up and down the expanse of my back. I bury my face in his shoulder, finding a rhythmic pattern of inhale and exhale to let me dissolve into this moment.

“Sorry,” Will mumbles once he pulls away, his face sporting a new, brighter pink tinge. “I know you hate being touched, but I couldn’t help it.”

“No, no.” I shake my head, already missing his scent and his warmth so close to me. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you? I mean as your friend, not your doctor.”

A large lump forms in my throat. This is _Will Solace_ and he’s here, concerned about _me_. “You came to see me,” I tell him, “I couldn’t ask for something else.”

We make tea in the kitchen together before settling down to watch the show. I’ve heard of Breaking Bad before, never getting around to really investing time into it. Will, however, is obsessed, sitting on the edge of the cushion to yell medical facts and profanities at the TV.

“How are you managing to correct medical facts on a show about cooking crystal meth?” I ask with a laugh.

Will cards a hand through his blonde curls. “Walt has cancer, Nico. That’s medical.”

“How did you start watching this show, anyway? I was sure you’d be into _Grey’s Anatomy_ , or _Untold Stories of the E.R_.”

“Oh, I am. But ever since I stopped playing hockey, I’ve had ample amounts of spare time. I had to teach myself to veer away from the sole genre of medical shows.”

“Why did you stop playing hockey? Too busy studying for med school?”

Will curls his knees up to his chest, sipping his tea. “That, and I got hurt in the middle of my first year on the university team. After recovery, I decided enough was enough.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I got hit from behind about two feet from the boards by a guy who made me look small. I snapped my collarbone, dislocated my shoulder, and fractured my humeral head. Two separate surgeries, nearly three months of immobilization and a year of physical therapy. It still acts up sometimes.”

I wince. “Which shoulder was it?”

Will points. “My right one.”

Without thinking, I stretch my hand out and rub my fingers over his shoulder, imaging the scars beneath his hoodie, the scars I want to caress and kiss. “That sounds like it hurt.”

“It did. I can’t even describe how much it hurt. My friend Cecil was a student at the time; he was on that night. He knew it was bad because when I came in I was complaining. My pain tolerance is ridiculously high. It has to be brutal before I complain.”

“What position did you play?”

“I was a defenceman,” Will says. “I didn’t quite have the speed to make it as a forward, plus I was larger than most of the guys on my team. Nobody liked messing with me. But, I held the record of Most Goals Scored by a Defenceman my senior year of high school. I guess I have a wicked slap shot.”

“Too bad you don’t play anymore,” I tease, nudging his arm with my shoulder. “I would have liked to come watch.”

Will’s eyebrows go up. “Yeah? You would’ve been in the stands, cheering me on?”

“Sure. I know nothing about hockey, and I’m not a fan of sports, but it’s always different when you know someone who’s playing.”

“So I guess there isn’t anything I can come watch you play?”

I laugh, inching closer to him. “Not unless it’s a video game.”

“I love video games!” Will exclaims, his blue eyes sparkling. “Nobody beats me at Mario-Kart.”

I scoff. “That’s because you haven’t played me. I’m a Mario-Kart beast.”

“Are you challenging me to a race, Nico di Angelo?”

“I think I’m challenging you to a multitude of races.”

 

“No, no, no!”

“Get out of my way, Peach!”

“Watch out for the blue shell!”

“Damn you, Bowser!”

Will and I are sitting so close our shoulders and knees are touching. He’s just as competitive as I am, playing with his whole body and swearing at the TV when something doesn’t go his way. We started playing in teams, soon after deciding all of the computer-run players suck and they just slow us down, so it quickly becomes every man for himself. I play as King Boo and Will plays as Yoshi.

“Geez, Nico!” Will cries as I push him off the edge of the track and he goes spiraling into darkness. “You’re mean!”

“I play to my own advantages,” I inform him, flying past Mario and Luigi. “I do whatever is necessary to win.”

“Do you always play as King Boo?”

I win my fourth race in a row, tossing my controller aside. “Yes. There’s something about his character that appeals to me.”

Will places his controller on the coffee table, resting his socked feet on the edge, “Can I call you the Ghost King when we play Mario-Kart from now on?”

My face heats up and I know I’m blushing. “I guess,” I murmur. “If you want to.”

Will smiles. “You’re cute when you blush.”

I cover my face with my hands, peaking at him through parted fingers. “Well I’m glad you think so, because apparently I blush a lot around you.”

“I’m not complaining.”

Will is still here when Em and Jax come home. We plunged through a big chunk of Breaking Bad, and he managed to beat me at three Mario-Kart races. Em offers for him to stay for dinner; Will politely declines, informing us his two best friends, Cecil and Lou Ellen, are supposed to come over to his place for their weekly takeout meal.

“You’ll have to meet them sometime,” Will says when I walk him to the front door. “I think they’ll love you. Maybe all four of us could go out and do something.”

“Maybe,” I muse, not wanting to shoot him down right off the bat.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?”

I nod. “Em and Jax are home now.”

“Okay. Well…call me if you need something, okay? I don’t care if you interrupt my time with my friends.”

“Okay. Uhm, thanks.”

_Gods._

I could get lost in the pools of blue that are Will’s irises. His lips look so soft, so pink, so kissable. His scent is clinging to my shirt, making me excitedly dizzy.

“Goodnight, Nico.” Will’s arms come around me briefly, too short a hug for my desire. My fingers travel down his arms, brushing past his elbows to forget my wish to pull him back upstairs.

“Goodnight, Will. Thank you for spending the day with me.”

Will’s smile makes my heart melt. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs in this chapter:
> 
> I Will - Matchbox Twenty  
> Lullaby - Nickelback


	10. Will: One Day Too Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the tables to turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the fluff! Italian is Google translated so forgive me if it's wrong.

“Tick tock, hear the clock count down.  
Wish the minute hand could be rewound.  
So much to do and so much I need to say,  
Will tomorrow be too late?”

“ _Psychiatry to the ER, please. Psychiatry to the ER_.”

I drop my pen on the new file I’ve been reviewing for the last twenty minutes, lifting my eyes to meet Em’s from across the common area.

“What do you think they need at four in the morning?”

“Who knows?” She shrugs. “Could be anything from a restock of anti-depressants to an immediate assessment on some psychopath.”

“Oh, how I love those immediate assessments.” I roll my eyes, tone dripping with sarcasm. Not that I have the authority to complain; my first week of being on the night shift has been oddly calm, a supposedly nice contrast to the usual busyness of during the day. Plus, there’s the happy coincidence of Em’s span of nights falling on the same week.

“We better go,” Em says. “See what they need.”

I can hear people shouting from the opposite end of the hallway. There’s a woman screaming hysterically, slapping and punching the chest of the security guard who’s restricting her from one of the trauma rooms. As we get closer, the smell of the air changes from antiseptic clean to metallic blood; a splattered blood trail starts at the entrance to the ambulance bay and leads into the room.

“What’s going on, Dr. Parker?” Em asks, bringing him to a halt as he barrels out from behind a half-closed curtain, his lab coat speckled with blood.

“We have a seventeen-year-old, gunshot wound to the head, heart rate 120, respirations 40, BP 90/60 and falling.”

_Holy shit._

“What have you done so far?” I ask, storming towards the trauma room, Em hot on my heels.

“Not a lot, they just arrived.”

“Call the lab and order four emergency units of O negative,” I order. “We don’t have time for a cross-match. I need as many packages of gauze as we can get, we have to at least slow the blood loss.”

I thought I was prepared. I thought all those years of med school and medical shows would be enough to ready me for what I’m about to walk in to.

No.

There is blood all over the room: staining the sheets of the stretcher, smeared on nurses’ scrubs, pooling on the floor. The distraught woman-whom I’m guessing is this patient’s mother-is still screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to force her way past the guard holding her prisoner; she, too, is covered in blood. Blood, and something else.

_Oh my gods._

She’s covered in her kid’s brain matter.

An admittedly large part of me doesn’t want to look, wants to grab Em’s hand and drag her back to the safety of the psych unit. The smaller part of me that’s sparking with electricity knows exactly what needs to be done.

_Okay. You can do this. Let’s go._

Up close, our patient appears to have shot himself in his right temple, the size of the entry wound much smaller than the size of the exit wound. Typical gunshot injury.

“Looks like a .357mm,” I say after a comparison of the two points. “Entrance to the right temple, clean shot exiting the left temple.”

“How can you tell?” Em asks, grabbing gauze to press to this kid’s head.

“Difference in the size of the entrance and exit wounds. We can worry about it later; right now, we need to ease this blood flow, or he’s going to bleed out before we even have a chance.”

“You think we have a chance?!”

I set my jaw firmly. “I know we have a chance.” 

“What do you need, Will?” Dr. Parker says from behind me. “I’ll help any way I can.”

“I need an IV started stat, electrolyte and glucose solution; as soon as that’s going, we need those units of blood. We have to check the wound for debris before we bandage it.”

“Done, Will!” Em informs. “I saw some small bits of shrapnel; they’re embedded too deep to try and dig them out. Like you said, we have to stop the bleeding before we attempt to clean it.”

“Okay, perfect. You’ve got more gauze?”

She hands me a fresh wad. “Right here.”

“Do we have a name for our patient?” I ask Dr. Parker.

He nods. “Ethan Nakamura.”

Ethan’s eyelids are fluttering. His lips are cyanic. His hair is sticky with blood and cerebral fluid. I gulp down waves of emotion as I apply the gauze to his head, putting as much pressure on it as I can.

“It’s okay, Ethan,” I whisper to him. “My name is Will. I’m going to help you, okay? But, you’ve got to help me, too. We have to work together, okay?”

Em administers the IV and is now working on the blood transfusion. The blood from Ethan’s wound has ceased seeping, no longer dripping to the puddle at my feet. His blood pressure is rising, slowly but surely, heart rate calming.

“What’s going on with you, Ethan?” I murmur, holding my hand out and beckoning for some new gauze. “What made you want to do this, huh? You really scared your mom. But, it’s okay. We’ll get you through this.”

“Transfusion is going!”

“Thanks, Em!” I take a breath. We can do this.

“Call ICU and have them prepare a room.”

_Wait._

All of a sudden, Ethan starts foaming at the mouth, his body seizing. Gushes of blood pour from his head wound.

_No. No, no, no, no, no._

BEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

Blood continues to spurt, matching the jerky movements of Ethan’s body. I leap on the stretcher and start pounding on his chest, praying for a blip on the flat-line heart monitor.

“Come on! Come on, come on, come on!”

I compress until my wrists turn numb. Nothing changes.

“Will.” Dr. Parker’s large, strong hand lands on my shoulder, stopping my attempt at CPR. “There’s no hope anymore. He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

My hands are shaking so bad. My heart feels like it’s about to break through my ribcage. I want to scream and cry and vomit all at the same time.

“Will.”

I hear Em’s voice this time, her hand resting on the small of my back. “Come on,” she says gently. “We have to go back to our unit.”

I crawl off the stretcher and follow her back down the hall. Mrs. Nakamura, now stricken with grief, is screaming after us.

“You killed my son! You let my son die!”

“Em…” I stop walking, my vision blurry. It feels like the entire world around me is wildly spinning. “I can’t…he’s gone…my first suicide…”

“Will, no,” she says. “No, it’s not your fault. Don’t think like that.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and makes me look her in the eye. “Okay? It’s not your fault.”

“Will, Em, wait a second.”

Dr. Parker comes down the hall towards us. His face is full of weary.

“I just wanted to say thank you. And tell you to not be so hard on yourself. You did the right thing, son. You tried everything you could to save him. I can honestly say it was more than I had planned. I didn’t think we had a chance in hell when he first came in.” He reaches up to pat my shoulder. “You did well, Will. Remember that.”

Psych is quieter now than it was when we left. I try to bring my attention back to the file I’d been reviewing, but my mind is running a million miles a minute, going back to that trauma room.

I really thought I could save him.

And I failed.

“Will? Earth to Will. Are you listening to me?”

I blink. Em’s waving her hand in front of my face. “Did you hear me?”

“No,” I whisper, licking my lips. “Sorry. What did you say?”

Her eyes grow sad. “I said you’re coming home with me. I’m not letting you be alone, not after that.”

“Won’t I impose?”

“No. Jax has to work, but Nico and I will be home. You need sleep and some good company.”

_Nico._

“Okay. Can we go now?”

“We can go when Dr. Blofis gets here,” she says.

Dr. Blofis had to choose today of all days to show up almost half an hour late.

The drive home is noiseless. I find myself staring aimlessly out the window, wishing Em would put on the radio or plug in her iPod, not caring if it was some scream-o nonsense I could barely understand as long as it proved its point as a distraction. We pull into a Starbucks drive-thru, groggily ordering a soy earl grey tea latte for her and the usual black coffee for me. I’m almost too numb to taste it.

“Normally I go straight downstairs after a shift like that,” Em says, slamming her Jeep into park and scrubbing her hands over her face, “But I won’t. I’ll get you settled first.”

“You make it sound like I’m a child who just witnessed their first horror movie,” I joke, trying to bring humour to this situation.

“You hate horror movies,” she points out. “And this is like the psychiatric equivalency.”

“Really? I thought the psychiatric equivalency would be a crazy person coming at you with a knife. Or a chainsaw.”

Em’s eyes narrow. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

I press my hand to my chest, faking a gasp. “Me? Sarcastic? Never!”

Her green eyes roll. “Let’s go. I need to shred and then sleep.”

“Shred?”

“You’d be surprised how much better you feel after you play your way through your top three guitar solos.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Jax is sitting at the dining room table, on the opposite end from his study area. He’s scrolling through his phone, sloppily shoveling spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth. I’m oddly amazed he doesn’t manage to spill milk on his button-down.

“Morning,” he addresses us distractedly. “How was work? Did you hear about that kid who shot himself in the head?”

A strangled noise escaped from the back of my throat. My eyes burn.

“That kid’s name was Ethan Nakamura,” I snap, unable to steady the shakiness of my voice.

Jax puts his phone down. “Morning, Will. Sorry, I didn’t know you were here, too.” The glazed, spacey look in his eyes disappears as soon as his eyes reach my face. “Wait, _was_?”

“Will, don’t,” Em tries. “Don’t do this to yourself. Remember what Dr. Parker told you. Dr. Parker rarely compliments residents.”

“A kid DIED, Em!” I roar, pulling hard on my hair. “Don’t you understand that?! A kid SHOT HIMSELF in the HEAD and he DIED under MY CARE!”

“What’s going on in here?”

All of the emotions bubbling in my chest boil over at the sound of Nico’s voice. His hair is a dark, dishevelled mess, falling across his forehead as he rubs sleep from his eyes, stifling a yawn behind his hand. A few tears escape the lids of my eyes; I rush forward and throw my arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder.

“Ooof,” Nico grunts, stumbling backwards at the sudden addition of my weight against him. “Good morning to you too, Will.”

I hold back a sob, biting hard on my lip to calm myself down. One of Nico’s hands strokes the back of my neck, the other rubbing slow circles in the space between my shoulder blades.

“Hey,” he breathes, “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” I whimper, sniffling.

“Yes you are. What is it? What happened?”

I take a deep breath, hastily swiping away the tears on my cheeks. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I need to go to bed.”

Nico’s obsidian eyes cloud with worry, but he doesn’t press me. “Okay,” he says instead. “Come on, you can sleep in my bed.”

He finds me one of Jax’s shirts and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms to change into while he tidies up his room for me. After I locate a spare toothbrush to use and head back to him, I find the bed neatly turned down and the room bathed in soft yellow light from the bedside lamp.

“Where are you going to sleep?” I ask, crawling beneath the cozy sheets, embracing Nico’s scent woven into the soft fabric.

Nico smiles sympathetically. “I’m up now. I won’t be going back to sleep. I will be right downstairs if you need me, okay?”

I nod, already drifting off. “Thanks, Nico.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“G’night.”

 

Thank god my sleep is free from haunting, reminding nightmares.

I wake up to the sound of a TV playing quietly, and a heavy weight beside me telling me I’m not alone in this bed. I roll over, my nose bumping into what feels like an elbow.

My bed buddy jumps and mutes the TV. “Sorry,” Nico mumbles. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no,” I reply groggily. I lay back on my back, stretching and rubbing my eyes. “I just didn’t expect to have someone next to me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Turns out I was more tired than I thought and Em fell asleep on the couch.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” I turn on my side and prop myself up on my elbow, facing him. “What time is it?”

“Just after ten,” Nico answers, smiling down at me. “Go back to sleep if you want.”

“Maybe. What are you watching?”

“The Food Network.”

I uncontrollably giggle. “You watch The Food Network?”

Nico narrows his eyes at me, wagging his finger. “Of course I do! I’m Italian, don’t you know?”

He says this in a natural Italian accent that makes my mouth dry and my toes curl. “So because you’re Italian, you’re obligated to watch cooking shows?”

“Normally I would use words like encouraged or implemented. But yeah, obligated pretty much sums it up.”

“Do you even like them?”

Nico shrugs, flipping his hair off his forehead. “Some of the shows are cool. I like _Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives_ , and _Brunch at Bobby’s_. My family took a travelling trip around the US one summer and we stopped at quite a few Triple D joints.”

I can’t help noticing the pinch in Nico’s voice, a saddened tone inappropriate for what’s supposed to be a happy memory. “I bet those were good,” I say, pretending I don’t hear it.

He nods. “They were all amazing. So much food though.”

“I don’t understand how you don’t like food. Food is amazing.”

Nico crinkles his nose. “ _Le due cose che un uomo italiano può vivere sono una buona donna e un buon cibo_.”

_Oh. My. Gods_.

_He is so HOT when he speaks Italian._

“Uhm, what?” I stammer. “I don’t speak Italian.”

“The two things an Italian man can live on are a good woman and good food,” Nico translates. “My mom used to say that to me all the time. I think it’s hilarious because I don’t like food _or_ women.”

“You are such a rebel,” I tease, “Disobeying your mother and everything.”

“I know, right? Totally badass.” Nico smirks at me and sticks his tongue out.

“Good thing you have me to keep you in check. Otherwise, who knows what you would do?”

Nico laughs. I love his laugh. Bright and musical, like my favourite song.

Hell, it’s better than my favourite song.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

His question snaps me back to earlier this morning; the monotonous drone of the heart monitor buzzes raucously in my ears. If I close my eyes, I see the puddle of Ethan’s blood at my feet.

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

“We got called down to the emergency department this morning,” I start, biting the peeling skin of my thumb cuticle. “They just brought in a kid who…who shot himself in the head.”

Nico’s eyes double in size. His mouth forms a perfect little o shape. “Oh my gods. You had to see that?”

I nod slowly, the skin around my thumbnail now red and bleeding. “I was convinced we had a chance to save him. There was this hot feeling in my stomach telling me exactly what needed to be done, and that we were going to stabilize him and he was going to be okay. I started the IV, ordered the transfusion units, got the bleeding under control. I could feel this kid’s life coming back into my hands.

“And then, just like that, he was gone. He started seizing and all this blood started gushing out of his head and he flat-lined. I jumped on the stretcher and I started pounding on his chest _so hard_ and prayed and prayed and prayed that I wasn’t going to lose him.” I steady my trembling hands against my knees. “He stopped jerking and he was just gone. I couldn’t save him. I failed.”

At first, Nico doesn’t say anything. He sits beside me with his legs crossed and his hands folded neatly in his lap, an unreadable expression sweeping across the features of his face. I look down at my own hands, which are now violently vibrating against my kneecaps. My chest is tightening like a vice.

“I let him die, Nico,” I whisper hoarsely. “He was seventeen. _Seventeen_. When I was seventeen I did nothing but study so I could get into a good college and go to med school, and he’s not going to get to experience _any_ of that. He won’t get to graduate high school or go to college or get married or have a family…”

“Will,” Nico interrupts, pulling my hands into his lap and intertwining my fingers with his, “Shhh. This isn’t your fault. You did everything you could.”

“No, I didn’t!” I protest, trying to squirm out of Nico’s tight grip. “I could have-”

“ _No, Will_ ,” Nico says firmly, squeezing my fingers to prove his point. “There was nothing more you could have done. Even Dr. Parker admitted you did more than he would have. Can I tell you a secret?”

“I guess so.”

“There’s a reason shooting yourself in the head is the most lethal way of suicide.”

“That’s not a secret,” I say. “I already knew that.”

“Well, then you already knew that kid’s chances of living were next to nothing. Entrance to the right temple, right?”

I nod.

“See? And you _still tried._ Don’t you realize how brave that was?”

I don’t, but something tells me Nico won’t like that answer. “I guess so.”

Nico frowns. “Don’t you lie to me, Will Solace.”

I can’t answer him, not the way he wants or the way he deserves. “I just feel so guilty,” I murmur.

Nico’s thumbs run over the backs of my hands. “Will, you are a medical professional,” he says. “You do the best job you can to help your patients every day. That doesn’t mean you’re supposed to save every patient you treat. You’re going to be a _psychiatrist_ , not a miracle worker. Honestly, I think psychiatrists have a tougher job than a general M.D., or even a specialist. Why? Because you deal with the most complicated organ in the human body: the brain. Everybody’s brain is engineered to work in different ways, ways unique to them as an individual. That’s a lot of fucking ways. Which means there’s a lot of fucking ways for things to go wrong. And you have to try and figure out which way it is for each person. That’s _ridiculously_ harder than someone who goes to the doctor with a bad cough or a sore leg. You can’t save everybody all the time, Will. You just can’t. And that’s okay. It’s part of your job.” He smiles softly at me, bringing my hands to his chest; I can feel the steady pulse of his strong heartbeat.

“If you ever forget that, all you have to do is think of me. Remember the sound of my voice, the warmth of my hands, the rhythm of my heartbeat. Remember that you are one of the reasons I still have all those wonderful things.”

My entire body is doused in electricity. My hands and feet are tingling, my face feels flushed and there’s a pool of fire in my groin. “Nico…” I start.

He cuts me off. “These hands right here, are the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen. You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, Will.”

“You clearly haven’t looked in the mirror,” I manage, licking my desert dry lips.

“Oh, I have. That’s how I know I’m right.”

I shake my head. “But, you’re wrong.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Nico chuckles, lacing and unlacing our fingers. “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes,” I say honestly, feeling a smile spread on my face. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He starts randomly blushing. “Hey, Will?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember when we went for coffee and you asked me what my type was, and I told you I didn’t have one?”

“I remember,” I tell him, my brow furrowing. “Why?”

“Well…” Nico pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “I’ve been thinking maybe I do have a type.”

I blink. “Oh? Care to share what it might be?”

Nico smiles at our hands sitting in his lap. “I think I’m into tall, blonde doctors who drink disgusting black coffee and are obsessed with Marvel.”

I tap my index finger on my chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm, that’s odd. I’m a tall, blonde doctor who drinks _delicious_ black coffee and is obsessed with Marvel.”

“Really? Well, how convenient is that?”

“Pretty convenient,” I admit, leaning closer to him. “Hey, Nico?”

“Yes, Will?”

“I think we need a do-over of what happened the last time we were in this room together.”

Nico flicks one eyebrow up. “Oh?”

“Yes. Except this time, I refuse to deal with your drunken self and I am still not going to sleep with you and…”

“Oh, just shut up and kiss me already.”

Nico’s lips are soft as rose petals and taste like honey. My limbs are weightless, completely melted into the mattress. His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones. I can’t think. I can barely breathe.

When we finally separate, Nico’s pupils are so blown I can’t see the dark brown of his irises. He’s blushing like crazy and smiling like an idiot. _He_ is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

 

We lay in bed together for a while longer, only half-paying attention to the TV as we steal kisses and light touches. I love the feeling of Nico’s fingertips on my skin, the smell of his hair, the taste of his lips. He’s already admitted to liking the warmth of my body and the blue of my eyes.

_Gods_ , don’t even get me started on his eyes.

The turning point for us decided to finally get up is when my stomach starting growling often and loud. Nico smirks playfully, plopping a kiss on my cheek.

“Someone’s hungry. Come on, I’ll make you something to eat.”

Em continues to sleep soundly on the couch. Nico opens the fridge door, eyeballing its contents.

“What do you want?”

Embarrassment burns the back of my neck. “A grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Seriously?”

I nod. “I could live on grilled cheese sandwiches. They’ve been my favourite food since I was five years old. My mom used to make them for me when I was sick.”

“You are going to be easy to please,” Nico jokes.

“Just being with you pleases me,” I say with a smile.

The tips of Nico’s ears turn bright red. “Shut up, Solace.”

He spoils me with this grilled cheese, adding tomatoes and slices of thick ham, letting me in on his little secret of putting mayonnaise on the bread instead of butter to cook it.

“It gives it a better crisp on the outside.”

It sure does.

It’s the best damn grilled cheese sandwich I have ever eaten.


	11. Nico: Someone Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyfriend 101. That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for the lovely comments! You're all awesome. I really like this chapter, and I hope you guys do too!

“Can you see me holding you right in my arms?  
Right in my,  
If I, I could be with someone who’s just like you,  
Would you, would you be strong enough for me?”

I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming.

Right? This has to be a dream.

There’s no way someone like Will Solace could be interested in someone like me. I mean, he’s Will freaking Solace. And I’m…me. Plain old, messed up me.

Right?

“Nico?”

I blink and look up; Will’s azure eyes are staring back at me.

“Hmm?”

“Everything alright?” Will asks gently, cocking his head slightly to his right as he chews thoughtfully on the end of his pen. “You look lost. Is this too boring for you?”

“What? No,” I insist, shaking my head and interlocking our pinkies. “Sorry, I just spaced.”

“I don’t blame you.” Will releases my finger so he can flip through one of his many giant textbooks. “If I could afford to space out, I would.”

I rest my chin in my hands, plunking my elbows on the tabletop. “Please. You’re so smart, you probably don’t even have to study.”

“Why do you think I’m so smart?” A small smile flickers over his face before his brow turns back into a seemingly permanent furrow. “And there’s so many names, I wouldn’t be able to remember them all even if I had a photographic memory.”

“I can’t believe they’re making you memorize the different types of brain cancers.”

Will shrugs loosely, dragging a highlighter across the pages he’s reading. “Once the new year starts, I’ll be going back to NYU to start my brain imaging courses. CTs, MRIs, and PET scans are all used to diagnose brain cancers, and I have to be able to read them. They want us to be familiar with certain types so we can differentiate from the results of a scan.”

“Why don’t you just ask Em about it?” I wonder. “I’m sure she’d be able to help you.”

Will stares at me. “Really? You want me to ask Em for help about the disease that took her brother’s life at the precious age of twenty-two?”

“You don’t have to say it like that.”

He smirks knowingly, causing butterflies to flap about in my stomach. “You know what I meant.”

“And you know what I meant.”

Will pushes a large blonde curl out of his eyes and doesn’t answer me, narrowing his focus on his notes. He highlights a few phrases from a page full of wordy paragraphs and writes out a couple flashcards before slapping his pen into the spine of his book.

“I’m sorry. This probably isn’t what you had in mind when you asked me to spend time with you.”

“Not exactly,” I admit, unable to withhold a smile. “But, I don’t mind. I like the idea of helping you study. It makes me feel as though I directly contribute to the level of your smartness.”

Will sits back in his chair and stretches his arms high above his head. “Whatever makes you happy,” he says.

He tells me that a lot. _Whatever makes you happy_. I used to think nothing was going to make me happy again, or at least make me reach the level of happiness every person deserves in life, but Will always seems to know how to remind me otherwise. He gets me to that level and pushes me beyond it. Sometimes I worry that I don’t do enough for reciprocation, because I’m not sure how this kind of situation works even though we haven’t even had the discussion that we’re _in_ that situation.

I mean, I’m pretty sure we are.

But, I also think this is all some torturous nightmare which I’m still going to wake up from.

“I think we’re about due for a break,” Will decides, concluding his stretch by reaching across the table to take my hands. “What do you think? How about we go get some ice cream?”

“Ice cream sounds good,” I agree. We barely make it up from the table; the front door bangs open and Jax hollers up the stairs.

“Em? Are you here? Hello?”

“She’s not home yet!” I yell at him.

He breathes out an audible sigh of relief, bounding up the stairs two at a time and joining us at the table, taking the empty seat at the head. He’s wearing the biggest, most joyous grin I’ve ever seen.

“Hi, guys!”

“Hey, Jax…” I say slowly, eyeing Will and lowering myself back into my chair. “What’s up with you?”

He pushes his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “Two things: one, I found out at work today that I got the grant I applied for to further my chemical research on a cure for multiple sclerosis, and two, check this out.” He fishes deep into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small black box.

My heart thuds. Will gasps out loud.

“Oh my gods,” I whisper. “Is that…?”

Jax nods excitedly, opening it.

Nestled inside the box is a beautiful ring. The diamond is settled on a plain silver band, and then half encircled by a strip of smaller diamonds that branches off to wrap around about halfway down and returns on the other side, intersecting with a second glittering band that loops underneath. The actual center diamond is quite large, sparkling beneath the light above the dining room table.

“An engagement ring!”

Jax’s smile is so wide, it looks like he’s trying to split his face in half. “I finally saved up enough money to buy the one I really wanted. I’ve decided I’m going to ask Em to marry me for Christmas.”

I’m too excited, too shocked to move; Will, on the other hand, squeals like a little girl and bangs his hands on the table.

“Oh my gods, Jax! That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” Jax says. “She hasn’t said yes.”

I scoff. “As if she’ll say no.”

He keeps grinning, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was hoping you guys would help me think of a way to propose. I don’t want to do something cheesy that’s been done a million times.”

“Doesn’t proposing at Christmas already fall into that category?”

“Not if you help me plan something epic.” He rolls his blue eyes at me, so pale in comparison to Will’s. “And I said I was going to ask her _for_ Christmas, not necessarily _on_ Christmas.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something special,” Will assures, practically vibrating with excitement.

“You can’t say anything to her, though,” Jax says, his voice suddenly hardened by seriousness. “It needs to be a total secret.”

“Yes, Jax. Because as soon as she gets home, we’re going to run up to her and tell her you bought a ring and you’re going to propose.” I thump him gently upside the head. “Get real, man. Your secret is safe with us.”

“Hello? Anybody home?”

Jax’s eyes widen; he slams the ring box closed and hurriedly stuffs it back into his pocket.

_Not a word_ , he mouths as Em comes up the stairs.

“Hi, baby!” He jumps to give her a hug and a kiss. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” she laughs, giving him a strange look. “How was your day? Hey, Nico, Hi, Will.”

“Hi, Em,” we say simultaneously.

“My day was amazing,” Jax says, holding her hands and swinging them back and forth. “Wanna know why?”

She smirks inquisitively at him. “Why? Wait…did you get the grant?!”

He nods feverishly, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. Em shrieks and throws her arms around his neck, catapulting herself into his arms and snaking her legs around his waist.

“Babe, that’s awesome! I’m so proud of you!”

Jax sets her down, kissing her passionately as if Will and I aren’t sitting two feet away from them. “You know how I think we should celebrate?”

I throw one of Will’s big pink erasers at them. It bounces harmlessly off Jax’s shoulder and tumbles to the floor. “Don’t be gross,” I chide. “Will and I are sitting right here.”

They share another kiss, pulling back to stare into each other’s eyes.

“Spider-Man marathon?” Em asks, smiling.

“Spider-Man marathon.” Jax seconds.

She giggles, thrilled. “I’m calling in sick tomorrow. Lead the way, Mr. Barlow.”

“Has anyone ever told you you actually look like Andrew Garfield?” Will asks Jax, stuffing the last of his books into his backpack.

Jax lifts his shoulders. “It’s come up a few times.” He grabs Em’s hand and pulls her upstairs, the sounds of their laughter echoing behind them.

I catch Will staring after them, adjusting the straps of his bag. “Do you want to go join them for their Spider-Man marathon?” I tease.

“No,” he says quickly. “I have a feeling it will turn into multitudes of sex. I’d much rather go for ice cream with you.”

The best ice cream shop in New York is actually an add-on to a fifties-inspired diner called Monroe’s. It used to be an industrial warehouse space back in WWII, abandoned when the war was over and remodelled sometime in the 1970s by Joseph Monroe and his wife Kat. The inside is a medley of red-and-white leather and black-and-white checkers, complete with a huge soda fountain and shiny aluminum counters. Retro Coca-Cola signs and neon blue up lighting line the walls, which are from the original building. It’s open twenty-four-seven, and sometimes really late at night you can still smell the machine oil mixed in with the frying oil.

It’s oddly quiet for a Friday night. Normally, Friday nights display the epitome of a teenage hangout, the place practically overflowing with junior high and high school kids. Boys in letter jackets are crammed into booths next to girls in cheerleading uniforms; a group of “nerds” push tables together to commence in an intense game of _Dungeons and Dragons_ or _Magic: The Gathering_ ; the loner kids always occupy the back booths, arguing about feminism or animal rights as they sip on creamy milkshakes. My favourite back booth-tucked around a corner and almost invisible behind the shadow of the soda fountain-remains empty tonight, so I grab Will’s hand and pull him to sit there.

Our waitress looks like she belongs in the usual teen crowd, her ginger hair curled into ringlets that matches the shade of lipstick she’s wearing almost perfectly. Will and I each order a sundae: his caramel with rainbow sprinkles, mine chocolate topped with whipped cream and a cherry. We eat in silence for a moment when she delivers them to us, too engrossed in sugary goodness to put forth attention to each other.

“So, what are we?”

Will’s eyes are searching mine as he licks caramel sauce off the back of his spoon. His eyebrows are flicked up curiously, almost like he already knows the answer to his own question but requires me to provide him with clarification.

“What do you mean?” I ask, swirling my cherry around in its mound of whipped cream.

“Well, in between bites of this delectable sundae, I’ve been thinking. We’ve been spending a lot of time together the past few weeks. We’ve kissed, like for real, not some drunken, sloppy make out. And yes, don’t lie, it was a drunken, sloppy make out. And I _enjoy_ spending time with you, Nico. And I really like kissing you. You’re an amazing kisser.”

My face burns. “I like spending time with you, too,” I mutter. “And you are a great kisser.”

Will smiles, flashing me the adorable dimples in his cheeks. “And we just found out two of our friends are going to get married. You know as well as I do that Em’s going to say yes. It just makes me wonder, you know? About…us.”

_Us._

_There’s an us._

I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I pretend to play dumb. I want to hear him say it first. “What about us?”

Will’s eyes fall to his half-eaten sundae, a blush steadily creeping into his face and neck. “I’m asking you if you want to be my boyfriend,” he says, shyly looking up at me underneath his unfairly long eyelashes.

There it is.

Boyfriend.

Typically, the mere mention of that word knots my stomach and showers me in a wave of nausea. My neck gets stiff, my palms sweaty, my mouth parched. That word is nothing except a cliché, a title composed of rules and obligations and feelings.

But, that’s typically.

This is not typically.

This is Will Solace.

There is nothing typical about Will Solace.

I find myself staring at him, quickly lost in his eyes, distracted by the abundance of freckles dusting his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “Will…” I start.

He extends his palm, stopping me. “I don’t want to hear the _I don’t date_ excuse. And yes, it is an excuse. I know your experiences in the past have not been ideal, but need I remind you that I’m one-hundred percent certain the name written on my birth certificate is Will Solace, not Percy Jackson. Meaning I am _not_ Percy Jackson.”

“I know you’re not,” I say truthfully. “But you’re still you. And I’m still me.”

Will wrinkles his nose. “What does that mean? You being the most intriguing, mesmerizing, beautiful person I’ve ever met?”

“No. Me being messed up, scarred, broken. I’m a wreck, Will. You’ll regret getting involved with me.”

Will laughs softly. “Don’t you understand, Nico? I’m _already_ involved with you. You’ve already got your hooks in me so deep; I don’t want to get rid of them. If anything, I want them to go deeper. I only want to learn more about you, become a bigger and better part of your life.”

His eyes are burning so bright. His lips are parted in the slightest.

“You’re serious,” I say.

“Of course I’m serious.”

I sigh. “I have no clue how to be a boyfriend, Will.”

Will lifts his hands. “So? You think I do? My track record consists of one boyfriend in college and you already know how that story ended. It’s not something that comes with a pre-set, perfect status meant for achievement; it takes lots of time and lots of learning. Maybe we could figure it out together.”

_Together._

“Together,” I repeat.

Will nods.

“You really want to try together.”

“I really do.”

I sigh again. There’s a rush rippling across my shoulders.

“Okay.”

The look on Will’s face is priceless, a mix of shock and delight. “Wow, okay, great! That’s awesome!” He stalls for a minute. “So…what do we do now?”

I laugh. “We continue eating our ice cream and act like nothing has changed.”

But, something has changed.

Will Solace, handsome, intelligent, perfect Will Solace, is my boyfriend.

* * *

This idea is either going to turn out to be really stupid, or completely brilliant.

I’m calling it Boyfriend 101.

We all manage to squish into the living room. Jason and Percy are somewhat disturbingly sharing the large armchair, Leo and Jax make themselves comfortable on the couch, and Frank is present via Skype, the laptop resting on the coffee table. I take my place before all of them in front of the window.

It’s unnerving, having all of them stop talking at the same time and rest their eyes on me, patiently waiting. I brace myself on the edge of the little table just behind me, taking a settling breath.

“So, you’re probably all wondering why I asked you here today.”

“Well, I didn’t think it was because you wanted to braid each other’s hair and gossip about the new episode of _13 Reasons Why_ ,” Percy says, wriggling his eyebrows at his own sass. Jason rolls his eyes.

“Don’t joke about that, man. It wasn’t funny the first time.”

I dismiss them both, not in the mood to deal with their usual childish shit. “I actually did it because I need your guys’ help.”

Leo’s eyebrows contort, making it look like he’s the not-so-proud owner of a unibrow. “Help with what?” He’s extracted a paperclip from his pocket and proceeds to unbend and re-bend it “I’m down for anything that involves tools, but don’t ask me about that drawing thing you do.”

“I haven’t touched my sketchbook in nine months.”

“Then we’re golden.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes; I’m already commencing a strong regret of this idea.

“It’s about…Will.”

Will’s name gets everyone’s attention. Jason, Percy, and Frank are all shouting, trying to get me to listen to one and not the other as they yell over each other. I can’t really understand any of them, their voices blending into nothing more than an annoying buzz.

A shrill, piercing whistle shoots through the air like a bullet fired from a handgun. They instantly stop, glaring at Jax, who’s removing fingers from between his lips.

“That’s better,” he says.

Percy narrows his eyes. “Who made you boss?”

“This is my house?”

“Give it a rest, Percy,” I sigh. “I’m being serious. Will and I have decided to become an official couple.”

All of them stare at me incredulously, eyes broad and unblinking. Finally, Jason shakes his head.

“So, this is like a How to Be a Good Boyfriend panel?”

I shrug and lick my lips. “All of you have been with your girlfriends for a long time. I’m a relationship virgin.”

“Which is funny, because you’re not actually a virgin.”

“Unimportant, Percy,” I snap.

“You’re asking us for advice on how to be a good boyfriend, Nico?” Frank confirms, leaning closer into the camera.

“Yes, Frank.” I shift my weight to one side, crossing my ankles. “I’m going to ask each of you for a contribution of information that will help me treat Will the way he deserves to be treated. Would you like to go first? And don’t make regret asking you guys instead of asking the girls. I seriously considered it.”

Frank smiles; it may be a small thing, but I can tell asking him to go first makes him feel good. While he was part of the specific seven, he wasn’t exactly the most popular, with his burly frame and un-coordinating, clumsy mannerisms.

“The one suggestion I’m going to give you is to be mysterious and unpredictable. Now, I know you probably think that sounds ridiculous, but hear me out. Great relationships stem from spontaneity, and letting it go stale will be one of the quickest ways to get a burn-out. It doesn’t have to be huge, grand gestures like jet off to Mexico for a week; don’t get me wrong, you can do that if you so wish, but showing up out of the blue for no apparent reason with Chinese takeout, a bottle of wine, and a pair of handcuffs works just as good.”

Leo crinkles his nose. “Handcuffs, Frank? Speaking from experience, are we?”

Frank’s ears turn bright red. I clap my hands over my ears.

“That is my sister, Valdez!”

Leo laughs and sends a spastic wink in Frank’s electronic direction. I shift my attention to him next.

“What about you, Leo? What have you got to offer?”

Leo tosses his mutilated paperclip aside, folding his long fingers into a tent. “You gotta listen,” he says. “And I mean actually listen. Don’t let your brain process a pile of mumbling while you stare at her chest. Wait, Will doesn’t have boobs. Damn, you’re lucky.”

I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Back to the point, Leo!”

“Oh, right, sorry. I’m serious, though. You have to teach yourself to become an active listener. It was something Calypso and I struggled with for a long time, because I’m not always good at focusing on one thing at a time, especially when I’m in the middle of a big work project. It doesn’t matter if he chooses an inconvenient time to bring up something important-and believe me, he will-you have to teach yourself to take a break from what you’re doing and give him your undivided attention. Ask questions and make sure you’ve grasped the main points of what she’s telling you. It will save you many fights in the future.”

I nod slowly, letting what he said sink in. “That’s actually good advice, Leo. Thanks.”

“Anything for you, Death Boy.”

“Don’t call me Death Boy. Percy?”

Percy rubs his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees. “One of the biggest things I’ve learned from being with Annabeth is you have to give your partner space when they need it. Annabeth and I are pretty open when it comes to how we feel about certain things, but each of us have particular topics we don’t necessarily feel the need to discuss with the other. And that’s okay. Being a couple doesn’t mean you’re automatically obligated to split open and share every secret you keep. It’s up to you to decide what to reveal, and when. If Will tells you he can handle something on his own, or he needs time to figure something out, give it to him. Don’t force your way into his situation and make him accept your help. I’m not saying don’t offer it, I’m just saying don’t give it where it’s not wanted or needed.”

I hum softly. “Wow, Percy. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not just a handsome face and great personality, you know.”

“Right. Jason? Your turn.”

Jason adjusts his glasses so they rest temporarily straight on the bridge of his nose. “I know this probably won’t happen with you, because I’ve known you for almost five years and I know what kind of person you are, however you shouldn’t come off as passive or submissive. No person wants their partner to completely compromise their personality to satisfy them or make them happy. If giving yourself little pep talks every once in a while is what’s needed to keep your personality in check, then do it. If you and Will are caught in a discussion composed of differing opinions, and despite the fact you understand his point of view, you truly believe in yours, stand by it. Don’t give in easily all the time and let him walk all over you. Mind you, I also know Will and I know he probably won’t do that either. My main point: show that you are a strong, confident individual perfectly capable of having their own thoughts and opinions. You’ll have more respect for each other that way.”

“I’m grateful for your recognition of the person I am, Jason,” I tell him, smiling in the slightest. “Jax? Saved the best for last.”

Jax chuckles. “I’m flattered.” He presses his lips together in a thin line, taking a moment to think.

“I’m going to give you two pieces of advice. The first one is be attentive. People will tell you to pay attention to details, and they’re right, but they usually mean details like if she got highlights in her hair, or bought a new dress. While those are details that people appreciate getting noticed, they’re not the kind of details to which I am referring.”

“Then which ones are you referring to?”

“Psychological details. Physical details. Emotional details. Pay attention to the way he views certain situations, what sort of facts and thoughts he has on specific pieces. What kind of body language he uses when he’s feeling a certain way, whether he’s angry or sad or happy. Notice the change in his facial expressions, especially the look in his eyes. The eyes will tell you everything, even the things his words don’t. Those kinds of things will be even more appreciated than you commenting on the fact that he got a haircut or he’s wearing a new shirt.

“The second thing is making him feel loved, appreciated, and beautiful. Cliché, I know. I don’t care what anyone says, everyone likes being told how much they’re loved, that someone appreciates them, and that they’re the most beautiful thing someone has ever seen. It seems like a common aspect, but trust me when I say it is one most often forgotten. And it’s the one that should never be forgotten. Remember the little things, Nico. They’re the most important.”

Everyone’s quiet again. Percy and Jason exchange a knowing glance.

“Who invited him?” Jason questions.

“Yeah,” Percy seconds. “He’s making the rest of us look bad with all his deep shit.”

“I’m not going to point out, again, that this is my house,” Jax says, “Nor am I going to point out the fact that this deep shit is in fact rather shallow, and should not need some kind of repressing situation to be put into action. I’m speaking from experience. You should not have to walk in on your girlfriend unconscious on the bathroom floor and be the one to phone the ambulance because there’s an empty bottle of drugs next to her and you can’t get her to wake up for you to treat her like the queen she is. Especially when she treats you like a king.”

As if on cue, Em pops out from around the corner, twirling her Jeep keys on her finger. “Are you almost ready to go, babes? Archie and Ash have everything set up at their place and the truck is packed.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jax promises, smiling at her. “Oh, and Em?”

“Yes?”

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, I’m so lucky to have you in my life, and I love you more than you know.”

Leo whistles lowly under his breath. Frank smirks proudly.

Em looks down at her shoes, now grinning like crazy. “I love you so much, and I’m the lucky one,” she says, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “We shouldn’t be super late, Nico. We’re just having a practice at the twins’. I’m so happy for you and Will.”

“Thanks, Em. Have fun at practice.”

Percy and Jason still can’t form words, even after the front door slams and we can hear the Jeep take off down the street. It’s Leo who finally rises to his feet.

“I hope our advice helps you, Nico,” he says. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m going to go home and telling Calypso I love her. See you guys later.”

Frank says goodbye, too; I can hear Hazel calling for him in the background. Percy and Jason are quick behind him, Percy heading out to start his car, Jason hanging back for a second.

“I’m really happy for you, Nico,” he tells me, his glacier eyes growing soft with emotion. “I’m so glad you found someone who makes you so happy.”

“Thanks, Jason,” I say, already knowing where he’s really going with this. “I don’t want you to worry about it, okay? Will’s a good guy. You said so yourself.”

“I know. But I can’t help it.”

“I know.”

He sighs, carding a hand through his spiky blonde hair. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will, Jason,” I assure. “If anything happens, I promise I’ll come to you.”

“Okay. Thank you. See you, Nico.”

“Sure, Jason. Thanks.”

The idea of being classified as Will Solace’s boyfriend simultaneously excites and terrifies me. I feel like I’m going to forget the things my friends told me, making myself look like a total idiot in front of him. I keep trying to remind myself of what Will said, that his relationship record consists of one guy in college, and yes, I do know how that story ended. It’s not fair to count our story over before it even starts.

We’ll figure this out. Together.

Right?


	12. Will: If It's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise proposal, and a Christmas visit from Will's mom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't decided if I will include more on Christmas in my next chapter. Feel free to comment if anyone wants me to or not. Thanks for reading! I'm sorry it look me so long to update this

“Hold our cell phones up in the air,  
And just be glad that we made it here alive.  
On a spinning ball in the middle of space,  
I love you from your toes to your face.”

My last day of my first rotation in the psych unit is December 20th, five days before Christmas. I’m not expecting it to be different than any of my other days, but Dr. Blofis shows up sporting a new disheveled hairstyle and carrying a cake.

“Excuse my appearance. Baby is due next week, and I’m up to my ears in honey-do lists.”

I’m seriously tempted to give him a hard time-his hair looks like he stuck his finger in a light socket-but the cake is chocolate, and chocolate is my favourite, so I think better of it.

“You know I’ll be back in September, right?” I ask him instead. “I’m only going back to school for one semester.”

“I know, I know.” Dr. Blofis smiles, the fine lines around his eyes deepening. “But, you’ll be spending a lot of time over in the medical imaging departments, collaborating with oncologists and shadowing brain scans. I think your schedule only sets you here one or two days a week.”

The realization of that statement kind of bums me out. I like working in the psych unit, shadowing Dr. Blofis and being alongside Em and the other nurses (minus Drew, but I didn’t say that), getting to know and understand patients on a psychological level. I’ll miss being around them every day.

Plus, the idea of discovering someone has brain cancer sounds horribly depressing. Whether it’s part of my job or not.

The best part of my day is Nico surprising me at the end of it. He shows up about fifteen minutes before I’m scheduled to go home, dressed in jeans and a black ski jacket zipped up to his chin, his dark hair dusted with snow.

“Hey you,” he greets me, plopping his arms on the desk to rest his chin on his forearms as he peers up at me. “How was your day?”

“Good,” I answer, refraining from leaning down and giving him a kiss. “Whatcha doing here?”

Nico quirks an eyebrow. “Are you not happy to see me, Solace?”

“I did not say that. I merely questioned the reasoning behind your unexpected arrival. I am very happy to see you.”

He smirks. “I just decided to surprise you. Since it’s your last day, I thought maybe you’d want to go for dinner and celebrate.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling dances through my chest, plucking at my ribs like harp strings. “You want to take me for dinner?”

“Of course,” he says in his duh tone. “You survived your first semester of residency and I’m proud of you.”

Okay, now I _really_ want to kiss him.

“That’s so sweet of you,” I say instead, forcing my eyes to look anywhere but his lips. “Did you have a place in mind?”

“It’s your celebration dinner. You get to choose.”

“I’ve actually been craving a bacon cheeseburger from Monroe’s,” I admit, setting a hand on my grumbling stomach.

Nico’s eyes follow my hand and he laughs. “I can tell. Monroe’s sounds good to me.”

Dr. Blofis gives me a brief, yet sincere hug before we leave. “It was wonderful to work with you, Will. I wish you all the best next semester, and I look forward to your return in September.”

“Thank you, Dr. Blofis,” I say. “Congratulations on your new addition. I hope everything turns out well for you and Sally. Please give her my best.”

“I will, thank you. We’re very excited.”

We exchange another round of goodbyes and I follow Nico to Monroe’s. Unlike our previous visit, the diner is swarming with people, briefly making me reconsider my restaurant choice. We manage to find a table sandwiched between a teenaged couple only interested in each other’s tongues rather than the actual menu, and a preppy older couple who are both eating salads and drinking water.

Who orders salad at Monroe’s?

The crowd seems to amuse Nico, which surprises me since Nico is pretty much the most anti-social person I know. Once our waitress leaves with our orders, he reaches across the table and motions for my hands.

“This isn’t exactly how I imagined this,” he says. “I feel like I’m sharing your accomplishment with half of Manhattan Regional.”

“There are more than high school kids here,” I inform him, trying not to obviously stare at the couple next to us, who aren’t returning the favour. The man’s forehead is creased by disapproving wrinkles and the woman is fanning herself as if she’s about ready to pass out.

Nico rolls his eyes, ignoring them. He cups my fingers in his hands and rubs his thumbs across my knuckles. “So, how does it feel to have your first rotation under your belt?”

His touch is distracting; it’s a small gesture, but it’s one of my favourites. “I like to think it turned out rather well,” I say, squeezing his hands and smiling.

“I didn’t mean the fact that our relationship blossomed from it,” Nico responds, smirking.

“But, that was the best part.”

He rolls his eyes again, the expression on his face shifting from amused to annoyed. “Why don’t you two take a picture?” he snaps, choosing now to address the couple’s inconsiderate stares. “I promise it will last longer.”

They both return their eyes to their still-half-full plates. The man’s ears are red as strawberries. The woman’s mouth is contorted like she just ate something very sour.

“I really hope your burger is worth it,” Nico says. “I could’ve made dinner at home, and we would have avoided the criticism.”

“It’ll take more than a little judgement to ruin a night with you, Nico,” I reply. “Besides, if we were at home, we would’ve had to share with Em and Jax.”

Nico flicks his wrist dismissively. “They’re not home. They have another gig at The Devil’s Crown on the twenty-third, so they’ve been in last-minute practice mode.”

“Did you give him our suggestion to propose at a gig?”

He smiles. “Yes. We’ve already contacted the owner of the club.”

My matching smile is automatic. “Gods, that’s going to be so amazing. I’ll have to ask my mom if she wants to come, too.”

Nico’s smile vanishes, replaced by a confusion-filled brow furrow. “I thought your mom lived in Texas.”

“She does. She’s coming to visit me for Christmas.”

Nico blushes, hard, and it suddenly occurs to me that I failed to tell him about it back in November, when Mom called to give me the details of her surprise visit. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry. I totally forgot to mention it to you.”

He shakes his head, thankfully smiling again. “Don’t apologize. It’s not like we talked about Christmas plans.”

“That’s no excuse,” I argue, feeling guilty. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Don’t worry about it, Will. It’s not as if you randomly showed up at my house with your mom in tow. When’s she getting here?”

“I have to pick her up at the airport on Wednesday, her flight gets in around 5pm.”

He lifts his eyes, gazing at me through his eyelashes. (Gods, I love when he does that.) “Do I get to meet her?” he asks shyly.

“Of course you do!” I trill. “She’s excited to meet you, too.”

“How much have you already told her?”

Nico’s question isn’t coloured by accusation, but I can tell in his eyes he’s worried about my spilling of his past to my mom. I bring his hands to my lips and kiss his knuckles.

“I didn’t tell her everything,” I say gently, hoping to reassure him. “I did tell her we met at work, but I didn’t go into details. She knows our relationship is rather new, meaning I can only hope she won’t go all protective mom and grill you.”

“I can only hope I answer whatever questions she asks me correctly,” Nico jokes. “I gotta make sure I give your mom a lasting first impression. In a good way.”

I lean across the table to capture his lips in a soft kiss. “I’m not worried.”

Nico smiles this cute little boyish grin, chewing lightly on his lower lip. “Well, at least one of us isn’t.”

 

Waiting for someone at JFK Airport is hectic on a blizzard day in the middle of February. Waiting for Mom’s plane to land three days before Christmas?

A nightmare.

I’m serious.

Thank gods I’m not claustrophobic.

The gate is crowded with people waiting for their loved ones; in the fifteen minutes I’ve been standing here, I’ve seen three happy couples reunited, two sets of grandparents wrapping their arms around jumpy grandkids, and a father greeted by his wife and three kids.

When I first found out Mom decided to come visit for my Christmas holidays, I was excited. No matter how many times she told me I was smart to choose NYU, I knew deep down she was disappointed that I was moving so far away from her. It’s been just her and I for as long as I can remember-my dad left when I was little, and she doesn’t like to talk about him because it makes her sad. I stopped asking questions about why that was a long time ago, instead deciding her emotions come from a combination of me not having any memories of him, and her having too many memories of him.

Now, as I anxiously await her arrival, I can’t help the nervous knots twisting in my stomach. This isn’t going to be a typical university visit. I was going to be introducing her to Nico, one of the most important people that I’ve had in my life in a very long time. And not just introducing him as a friend, but my boyfriend.

“Will!”

There she is. I should have recognized her blonde curls from a mile away.

Mom is an alt country singer, and a popular one at that. She met my dad backstage at one of her shows in Austin, getting pregnant with me at the young age of twenty. Her hair has been the same for years now: naturally sun-kissed blonde and long, most often curled or placed in a neat ponytail. Her eyes are blue like mine, and everyone says I have her smile. I take it as a major compliment when people say I look just like her, because she looks like she’s thirty even though she’s pushing forty-three.

“Hi, honey!” Mom drops her purse to give me a hug, stretching on her tiptoes. “I swear you get taller every time I see you.”

I laugh. She still smells the same, like lilacs and Chanel perfume. “I haven’t grown since I was seventeen, Mom.”

“I know, I know,” she says, “But, when I don’t see you for a long time, you always look taller.”

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Almost four months.” Mom smiles sadly, leaning against my arm. “I hope I’m not interrupting something by coming for Christmas.”

“Mom, of course not,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “If you were, I would have told you not to come. I’m really happy that you’re here.”  
“I’m really happy I’m here, too, honey. And I’m very excited to meet Nico.” She looks up at me, a sneaky smile on her lips.

I can feel my face go tomato red. “Please don’t embarrass me in front of him.”

Mom puts her hand to her chest, mock hurt. “Me? Embarrass you? Never.” She closes on expertly made-up eye in a wink. “Just be thankful I came here instead of you two coming to Texas. Your baby album didn’t fit in my suitcase.”

_Oh gods._

“Don’t say stuff like that!”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I promise to behave myself.”

We gather her bag from the carousel and weave through the crowds both inside the airport and out. By the time we get to my car, Mom is shivering. 

“How are you out here in only a hoodie?” she exclaims, rubbing her hands together. “It’s freezing!”

“It’s only ten degrees,” I tell her, turning the heat on full-blast, knowing by the time she warms up, I’ll be sweating.

“Exactly! Freezing! It was sixty when I left the house this morning!”

“Remember this is New York, Mom, not Texas.”

She huffs, burrowing herself deeper into her jacket. “Do you have any surprise plans for us to do together while I’m here?”

I pull out of the parking lot and head for the exit. “Actually, I do. How would you like to go to a show tomorrow night?”

“A show?” Mom asks. “What kind of show? Like, Broadway?”

I shake my head, not surprised that’s the first thing she comes up with. “No, no Broadway. Do you remember me telling you about Em? She’s one of the nurses I worked with?”

She pauses for a moment, thinking. “Oh, yes. Yes, I do.”

“She and her boyfriend are in a rock band, and they have a gig at a downtown club. Nico and I were hoping to go; we helped Jax plan his proposal to her during the show. Would you like to come?”

Mom’s blue eyes sparkle. “Oh, Will, honey, it’s so nice that you asked me, but I don’t want to impose on your time with Nico.”

“It’s not an imposition,” I insist, shoulder-checking before I pull out onto the main road. “We don’t mind. It’ll be fun. Plus, you love being a witness for surprise proposals.”

Mom smiles and I know I’ve got her. So, the next night, she’s bouncing in the backseat as we pull up in front of Em’s townhouse to pick up Nico.

“Calm down, Mom,” I tell her, pressing my phone against my ear. Nico answers after the first ring.

“Hi, Solace.”

“Hey, uhm, we’re here.”

“I know,” he says; I can already see him smiling. “I saw you pull up. I’ll be right out.”

He’s dressed in his usual black jeans and aviator jacket, which he left open to show off his _The Joker_ shirt. His dark hair is swept off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

“Hey, thanks for picking me up,” he says as he clambers into the passenger seat. Gods, he smells _amazing_. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Solace. I’m Nico.”

Mom leans forward and shakes his hand. “No, Nico, the pleasure is mine. And please, call me Naomi.”

I drive faster than normal in hopes to get to the bar before anyone has a chance to make any sort of decent conversation. I should have really known better, because the next thing out of my mom’s mouth is:

“So, Nico, Will’s told me so much about you.”

Damn it.

I can feel Nico’s eyes burning a hole in my right temple. “Really?” he asks, not bothering to mask the exaggeration in his voice. “What kinds of things has he said?”

“He told me you two met at work. Are you studying to become a psychiatrist, too?”

Nico snickers kindly behind his hand. “Ah, no, I’m not. I was actually there…visiting a friend. Will and I just ran into each other one day. By accident.”

Mom gets quiet. “I’m sorry about your friend. How is he now?”

“Better,” Nico answers with a smile. “Thank you. What else?”

“Well, he said you were sweet and kind and funny, and not to mention handsome. What did you say about his eyes, Will? They were like luxurious pools better than onyx itself.”

Nico laughs out loud. It’s all I can do not to abandon the steering wheel and bury my face in my hands.

“Mom!”

“What? Oh, sorry, honey, was that over the line?”

“Over the line?!” I cry, “That wasn’t even on the same field!”

“It’s okay, babe,” Nico whispers, grabbing my hand over the console. “I think it’s cute.”

_Babe._

_He called me babe._

_Oh gods. Are we there yet?_

The lineup outside The Devil’s Crown is much longer today than it was last time, snaking around the corner onto the next block. It takes almost half an hour before we make it to the front; the bouncer looks at all three of us through narrowed eyes.

“IDs, please.”

Nico and I have ours out and ready, but Mom looks shocked. “Even me?”

“We ID everyone who looks under thirty-five, ma’am.”

I groan, wondering why the sidewalk can’t open a pathway straight to damnation and swallow me whole. “She’s actually my mom,” I tell the guard.

“Doesn’t matter, son. I still need to see some ID.”

Mom fumbles through her purse, extracting her wallet and showing him her driver’s license. Underneath the neon lights, I’m able to see her blush, and the giddy grin on her face.

“I like this place already,” she says, sliding past me to follow Nico inside.

_Of course you do, Mom._

We all grab drinks and fight our way through the sea of people on the dancefloor in order to get a spot up front. When Em comes out to do her final tune-up, a strange, garbled noise escapes from the back of Mom’s throat, somehow heard over the screaming fans.

“Mom?” I ask. “What is it?”

Mom rubs her chin. “I think I know her from somewhere. She looks very familiar.”

I frown. “Know her from where?”

“I’m not sure…But I swear I do.”

The set-list is familiar, yet different, allowing me to recognize some songs from my first show, like “In The End”, “Fire It Up”, “Coming Down”, and “Bottoms Up”, as well as introducing me to new ones, such as “Follow Me Down”, “Out of Hell”, “Painkiller”, and “No Jesus Christ”. Instead of singing the Panic! At the Disco song in honour of Aidan, Em returns to her original tradition and slows it down, playing a song called “Somewhere Out There” by Our Lady Peace. I don’t think it’s a song meant to specifically be about death, but the way she sings it, the amount of raw emotion poured into her voice, does the job perfectly. Everyone in the bar pulls lighters or cellphones from their pockets and puts them high in the air, swaying back and forth to the music like rhythmic fireflies.

Suddenly, I feel a tug at my arm. “Will,” my mom whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Her brother, he was Aidan Sharpe, wasn’t he?”

I can hear tears in her voice. My heart drops to my stomach.

Mom was never one for classical music, but she was a huge fan of Aidan. When Em told me about her brother’s rise to fame as a piano prodigy, earning him a spot in a prestigious symphony in Switzerland that he never got to claim, I pretended to play dumb, when really I already knew everything thanks to Mom. She followed his progress, begging me to accompany her to shows when he went on his tour around the States. Back then, I always declined, because classical music _really_ wasn’t my thing, and I didn’t understand the point of spending money to sit and watch some guy play the piano for two hours; now, I wish I had gone with her, even if it was only once.

“Yeah, Mom,” I answer. “He was.”

Mom sniffs. “God, she’s amazing.”

“Yeah. She is.”

Their three-song encore consists of “We Will Not Go Quietly” by Sixx A.M., “Help” by Papa Roach, and Nickelback’s “Coin For The Ferryman”. Em does her band introductions after the song is over, freestyling a beat as she goes along. She’s almost ready to say goodnight, until Jax speaks up.

“And what about the woman standing right in front of all you fuckers? Don’t you want to know about her?”

When the crowd roars out a reaction, Jax laughs and comes to the front of the stage alongside Em. “Let me tell you about her. She is the kindest, funniest, smartest, strongest, most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life. She always put everyone else ahead of herself. She brings out the best in anyone she meets; she’s certainly brought out the best in me in the four years we’ve been together. She knows how to make you feel so special, and so loved.” Jax gently takes the guitar off of Em’s neck, setting it aside on its stand. “And I can only hope she will continue to love me for the rest of her life, and let me love her for the rest of mine.”

“Jax…” Em says slowly. He stops her, pulling the ring box out of his pocket and getting down on one knee.

“Emerlee Rose Sharpe. Will you marry me?”

Nico’s fingers entangle with mine. He squeezes.

Em is nodding vigorously before Jax is finished his proposal, her smile so wide I’m sure the whole bar has a clear visual. “Yes! Yes, I will marry you!”

The crowd is deafening. My own cheers are drowned out as soon as they slip from my lips. Nico is hugging me, his arms tight around my shoulders as he plants a slightly sloppy kiss on my cheek. “She said yes!” he yells right in my ear.

“Of course she did!”

He smiles at me, his eyes glittering beneath the stage strobe lights. Looking at him like this, so focused on only him in a sea of strangers, makes me realize something.

I think I’m falling in love with Nico di Angelo.

* * *

It takes the band longer than normal to make their appearance back on the dancefloor. Mom offers to drive both me and Nico home, forcing her to behave on the subject of alcohol. Nico and I are evenly matched, him with his tequila and Coke and me with my Corona. The DJ’s playing a decent mix of tunes, but none of us feel up for dancing, at least not until we see Em and Jax.

I keep my eyes peeled for them, constantly scanning over the crowd. I pass over a couple basically making a porno in the corner and a cluster of men jumping around, all of them holding onto bottles of expensive beer; thinking nothing of it, I turn back to Mom and Nico, both of them deciding not to follow my lead and continue staring at the men.

“Will, you do realize who those guys are, right?” Mom asks, speaking away from me, her words muffled by the beat of the country song blasting overhead.

“No. Am I supposed to?”

“Considering it’s a handful of players from the New York Yankees, I would certainly hope so.”

I whip my head back around. “Are you serious?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Mom says with an affirmative nod. “I noticed them a few times during the show. They were merely short glimpses, so I wasn’t positive, but I am now. Gary Sanchez, Sonny Gray, Tyler Wade, Garrett Cooper, Dellin Betances, and Aaron Judge.”

I clap my hands over my mouth to keep from squealing like an obsessive fangirl. “Mom, don’t joke. Are you for real? _Aaron Judge_?”

“Yes, Will.” She discretely points to the second-tallest guy in the group with close-cropped curly brown hair. “That’s him, right there.”

“Who’s Aaron Judge?”

I stare disbelievingly at Nico, flabbergasted he isn’t understanding the reason behind my excitement. “Nico! Aaron Judge! How do you not know who Aaron Judge is?!”

“I don’t watch baseball?”

I drag my hand down my face. “Aaron Judge is only, like, _the top_ prospect in all of baseball right now. He made the All-Star team as a starter in his first major-league season and won the Homerun Derby!”

“And he’s dancing over there with some of his teammates, and that’s why you’re freaking out.”

“Yes!”

Nico’s reply is cut off by an abundance of screaming, letting us know the band must have finally made it out from backstage. After pushing themselves around everyone, stopping to take pictures and sign autographs, Em’s face breaks through in between a drunk dancing couple; she yanks on Jax’s arm, hurtling towards us.

The first person she hugs is Nico, who picks her up and swings her around in a circle, making her squeal with delight. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you two!”

“I’m so happy you guys are here!” Em exclaims, throwing her arms around me next. “I can’t believe you guys helped plan this whole thing!”

“We did good, didn’t we?” I ask, sending a secret wink in Jax’s direction. “This is my mom, Naomi.”

“Congratulations, honey,” Mom says warmly, hugging both Em and Jax. “Your show was incredible. Will has told me so many nice things about working with you.”

“I’m glad! I’ll miss him when he goes back to school next semester.” Em taps her index finger on her chin. “Hey, I know you! Naomi Solace, you’re an alt country artist! My brother and I are big fans!”

Mom beams, and I smile for her. I love going out in public with her, watching her interact with her fans. “Thank you so much. I’m such a fan of your brother’s, too. I didn’t know you performed as well! Quite opposites, you two are.”

“Always have been. Music-wise, anyway.” Em kisses Jax’s cheek, somehow managing to pull her phone out of the miniscule pocket in her skinny jeans. “I’ll be right back.” She disappears back into the mob; the DJ turns up one of my favourite songs from the new Imagine Dragons album, so I grab Nico and my mom and pull them onto the dancefloor.

Twenty minutes goes by, and Em still isn’t back. There’s a nagging thought in the back of my head, whispering, telling me something isn’t quite right. Something might be wrong.

I tap Nico’s shoulder; he stops dancing, looking at me curiously.

“Everything okay?”

“I just need some air,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

The smoking patio out back is empty, deserted, littered with extinguished cigarette butts, empty beer cans, and a broken bottle of Captain Morgan’s spiced rum. It’s not typical New York in December cold outside, but my breath still vaporizes when I exhale.

“Em?”

She’s curled up against the brick wall, her knees brought in tight to her chest, resting her chin on her kneecaps. There’s a half-smoked cigar tucked behind her ear, and she’s clutching her phone in between her fingers.

“Em?” I ask again. “You okay?”

She blinks and clears her throat, swiping the back of her hands against her eyes. “Oh, hey, Will. What are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because it’s December, and you’re sitting out here all by yourself, and you’ve clearly been crying.”

“No I haven’t.”

I sit next to her, wincing at the icy coolness of the brick against my back. “Yes, you have. What’s going on? You can tell me, I won’t judge, or anything. I promise.”

Em doesn’t say anything. She grips her phone tighter, closing her eyes and turning her face away from me.

I sigh. “It’s Aidan, isn’t it?”

She chokes out a broken scoff. “Is it really that obvious?”

“No. But, I’ve been training to study the way people think for a while now, and I like to think I’m sort of good at it. I can’t explain it, exactly. It’s just a feeling I’m getting.”

Em’s face rotates back towards me, two small tears trickling down her cheeks. “It’s so pathetic. I just got engaged. I should be happy and smiling and on top of the world, and instead I’m sitting out here in the cold, crying. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” I answer, scooting close enough to her that our shoulders touch. “Don’t think like that.”

She sighs loudly. Her breath smells like vanilla cigars and mints. “I guess I just never got around to thinking about what these situations would be like without him. I didn’t understand how empty I would feel.” She bites down on her lower lip.

“I tried calling him when I got out here. It rang and rang and rang and then some lady answered the phone, and it just hit me like…he’s gone. I don’t get to tell him I’m getting married. It’s not even his number anymore. I won’t be able to phone it just so I can listen to his voicemail and hear his voice again. I’m so…lost.”

“Those are all legitimate feelings, Em,” I say. “He was your brother, a big part of your life. Going through situations in life isn’t going to be easy without him. But, just because it isn’t easy doesn’t make it impossible.”

“Spoken like a true psychiatrist,” Em states, and then she laughs, briefly, until she’s returned to sadness. “He was supposed to walk me down the aisle, Will.”

“I know,” I whisper, slipping my arm around her shoulders. “You’ll find someone to walk you down the aisle. I’m sure Nico will if you ask. Hey, I’ll walk you down the aisle if you want.”

Em laughs again, for real. “Thanks, Will. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The door to the bar cracks open, spilling music and the smell of alcohol onto the cool, quiet patio. Nico sticks his raven’s wing head around the corner.

“There you guys are. Are you okay? Everybody inside is getting worried. Those Yankees players are asking about you; they want to buy us all some drinks.”

I look sideways at Em. “Are you good now? Can we go back inside and celebrate your engagement?”

She nods, allowing me to pull her to her feet. She hugs Nico tightly, giving him an affectionate pat on the cheek.

“Let’s go.”

I don’t oppose. How often do you get to celebrate your friends’ engagement with a handful of New York Yankees?


	13. Nico: Hanging By A Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas and a cute date...or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy reading the fluff in this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“Forgetting all I’m lacking,  
Completely incomplete.  
I’ll take your invitation,  
You take all of me.”

I didn’t know what to expect Christmas morning.

In the days leading up to it, I try my hardest to prep myself with options, including everything from a huge family dinner to being left alone because Em and Jax made other plans. I didn’t want to let those lonely thoughts creep into my head-they have strange ways of knowing just how to stick around-but no matter how many times I envision something happy, there they are, dangling in front of me like a taunting toy.

It’s early when I open my eyes. I don’t have to look at my alarm clock to tell; the blinds on my window aren’t shut completely, and I can see the sun barely peaking over the horizon, beginning its stretch of pink and gold hues into the darkened night sky. If I take a deep enough breath, I can smell freshly brewed coffee and evergreen trees.

I don’t bother getting dressed, padding downstairs in my old _Nightmare Before Christmas_ t-shirt and even older plaid pajama bottoms. The aromas are stronger down here, mingling together and wrapping around me like a soft blanket.

“Good morning, Nico.”

Em is sitting in the middle of the couch, her socked feet resting on the edge of the coffee table, the blanket from the back of the couch tucked around her legs. She’s gazing at the twinkling white lights on the Christmas tree we all decorated a few days ago; the fireplace is blazing, bathing the living room in soothing heat and flickering light. Christmas music plays quietly in the background.

“Morning,” I say, letting myself step into her peaceful scene. “You’re up early.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” she muses, sitting up straight, patting the space beside her. “Come sit with me. There’s coffee, if you want.”

I grab myself a cup and join her, letting her drape half of the blanket over my lap. The view is even better here, spread out in front of us, ready to be admired.

“This is beautiful,” I sigh.

Em smiles, curling her body closer to mine. “We did a good job on that tree.”

We really did. Will came over and helped out, too, put in charge of helping Jax with stringing the lights while Em and I made three batches of her famous Christmas caramel blossom cookies. (Will and I ate a whole batch ourselves). Then all of us hung decorations, singing along to the corny Christmas station we found on the radio. By the time we were done, a gorgeous tree shone before us, covering in sparkly lights and multi-coloured glass balls, topped by a five-point shining star.

“Yeah, we did.”

She’s quiet as she toys with her engagement ring. In the glow of the fireplace, it seems to sparkle more than the tree.

“I’m sorry if this isn’t how to you planned on spending Christmas this year, Nico.”

I stare at her, slightly hurt that she feels she needs to apologize. “Why are you sorry? Do you think this is a bad way to spend Christmas?”

Em shakes her head, taking a long pull on her coffee. “No. I just want to make sure you’re aware that I know this was probably not part of your plan.”

“Isn’t Christmas supposed to be a time you spend with family?”

“Yes. And you’re not getting to do that.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not? The last time I checked, you and Jax are the closest thing I’ve got to a family. You took me in and you feed me and do my laundry and look out for me. Isn’t that the whole point?”

Em’s lips become a very thin, very straight line. “I suppose I never thought of it that way.”

I wiggle my finger at her, smirking. “See? I’m not always such a pessimist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little pessimistic. The glass can’t always be half-full.”

“Try telling that to Will.”

She chuckles, nudging my calf with her toe. “Will just wants what’s best for you.”

“I know, that’s why I tolerate his over-the-top sunshine-y personality.” I close my eyes for a brief moment, smiling as the thought of my boyfriend dances through my mind. “I’m not interrupting any of your Christmas plans by being here, am I?”

“Of course not,” Em states firmly. “Jax and I usually spend Christmas alone, because it’s one of the few holidays where neither of us are stuck working. We always make way too much food for dinner, and then have sex in front of the fireplace.” She catches the disturbed look creeping across my face and her head falls back in laughter.

“Don’t worry, I promise we’ll skip that this year.”

“Yeah, thanks. Do you think we could invite Will and his mom for dinner? He told me they usually order Chinese food, but I think they both would appreciate a home-cooked Christmas meal.”

“Of course we can.” Em pats my hand. “Jax will be thrilled he gets to cook for someone besides himself and me.”

“Don’t you help him?”

“Me? Please. He tells me I just get in his way and distract him. No, I’m in charge of what we have for dessert. I’m not much of a cook, but I love to bake.”

“I can tell,” I say, my mouth watering at the mere thought of her caramel cookies. “Do you want my help again?”

“Do you know anything about baking apple pie from scratch?”

“Not a thing.”

“You’re hired.”

 

Turns out, making apple pie from scratch isn’t all that complicated.

It’s a lot of brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon.

Em makes a special top crust with oats instead of a traditional pie crust, so I guess it’s kind of like a combination of apple pie and apple crisp. Either way, by the time we stick it in the oven to bake, the kitchen already smells delicious.

And that’s just dessert.

Despite not having a lot of money saved up, I manage to scrape up enough to buy Em and Jax a gift certificate for a couple’s massage (because Em has told me she’s always wanted to try one of those) and dinner at one of their favourite restaurants for a well-deserved date night. Both of them express great thanks, but insist I really didn’t have to spend my money on a gift for them.

And then they turn around and buy me a new iPod.

Hypocrites.

“That’s different!” Em protests when I call her out on the hypocrisy. “I’m the reason you needed a new iPod in the first place.”

Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.

“You’re supposed to check pockets before you put stuff in the wash.”

“You’re supposed to take stuff OUT of your pockets before you put it in the laundry!”

I shake my head, tossing the boxed iPod between my hands. “I really appreciate this, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek that I wipe off when she’s not looking.

Jax gets to work on our Christmas feast as soon as we finish with gifts. When I ask him what the plan is, he hands me a long list with things added on and crossed off.

Cranberry glazed ham  
Herb and apple stuffing  
~~Mashed potatoes~~ Sweet potato casserole  
Roasted root vegetables  
~~Baked asparagus~~ Spinach salad  
Buns

“This is a lot of food, man.”

“It looks like a lot of food. I promise it’s not.” Jax collects about six different kitchen tools and collaborates them into a pile near the stove. “I’m just excited I get to cook for a family this year.”

“If you want to call our mishmash a family, I won’t stop you.”

Jax leans into the countertop, a tender smile on his lips accompanied by a conflicting grimace highlighting dark flecks in his eyes. “My mom died when I was seven. My dad was a useless alcoholic who drove me out of my house when I was seventeen. Em’s dad never bothered to be part of the picture, and she hasn’t spoken to her mom since Aidan got sick. Neither of us have had a family-filled Christmas in years. So, yes, I’m going to call our little mishmash a family.”

He turns back around, fiddling with the food processor. “Have you talked to Will yet this morning?”

I nod. “We texted a bit, you know, the whole Merry Christmas thing and whatever. I told him he and Naomi could come at four.”

“Are you excited? First family dinner with your boyfriend.”

I roll my eyes at him, and he snickers. “Gods, you don’t have to say it like that, Jax. You make it sound like it’s supposed to be some sort of disaster.”

“I’m just bugging you,” he insists, closing one eye in a wink. “What did you buy him for Christmas?”

“One of those “All Rise for the Judge” t-shirts and the Yankees cap he pointed out when we went Christmas shopping together,” I tell him, remembering the excited look on Will’s face as we browsed through the sports apparel store. “I didn’t realize he was such a huge Yankees fan.”

“You live in a house full of Yankees fans. I bet he looks cute in that hat.”

I uncontrollably blush. Will tried it on in the store. Cute was an understatement. “He could make a paper bag look cute.”

I almost wish he showed up to dinner in a paper bag.

It would be way less distracting.

Instead, he’s wearing a sky blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled casually up to his elbows, paired with dark washed jeans and a royal blue tie that has a subtle pinstripe pattern.

I swear when I see him, my mouth drops.

It’s not fair how handsome he is.

I suddenly feel underdressed in my black jeans, black button-up and classic Christmas red tie, which I didn’t want to wear, but did because Em asked nicely as she threw in a reminder of who was coming for dinner. Once Will finishes hanging up his mom’s coat, he sidles over to me and snakes his arms around my waist.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?”

He smiles, leaning down to give me a gentle kiss. “You look so handsome.”

I smile into Will’s kiss, deepening it in the slightest. “Really? Because I was about to tell you how handsome _you_ looked.”

Will’s lips don’t leave mine; his fingers ghost up my torso before clasping around my tie. “I like this tie.”

“I didn’t want to wear it. Em made me.”

He chuckles, finally breaking away from my lips, which are tingling from the loss of his. “Don’t you realize how _hot_ you look in it, though?”

“I didn’t,” I murmur, wishing he would kiss me again, “However, you might be able to get me to change my mind.”

“I can be _very_ persuasive.”

_Oh, gods…_

“Will? Nico?”

I leap back. Em’s face pokes around the corner from the kitchen.

“What do you guys want to drink?”

Will and I exchange a nervous glance; I’m glad to discover I’m not the only one with a steady blush creeping into my face and neck. “I’ll have a glass of whatever wine you’re having,” I tell her, hoping I don’t sound like a bumbling idiot. “Will?”

“Beer is fine, Em, thanks.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at us before disappearing back into the confinements of the kitchen. I stifle a groan, dropping my head to Will’s shoulder. He laughs good-naturedly.

“Don’t be embarrassed, babe. Better Em than my mom.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

It isn’t too long before we get to sit down for dinner. Everything on the table looks delicious, and smells even better.

“Before we dig into this amazing dinner,” Em inputs, wrapping her hand around her wine glass, “As a tradition, I would like all of us to go around the table and say what the best part of our year was. Would anyone like to start?”

“I will,” Naomi volunteers. She raises her beer bottle, training her blue eyes to her son. “My favourite part of the year is being able to spend Christmas with my only son, Will. Honey, I am so proud of everything you’ve accomplished this year. I know how hard you’ve been working, and there is no doubt in my mind that you will continue to do great things. I love you, and I’m so glad I get to be here with you. And I’m very thankful your friends were so willing to include me.”

Will leans over in his chair to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here too, Mom. I’ll go next.” He shifts his weight, clearing his throat.

“I’m going to say that the best part of my year was my residency. I think I broadened my psychiatric horizons and learned a whole lot in one semester, and, if it wasn’t for my residency, I wouldn’t have met the people sitting at this table with me. Well, minus my own mother. And these people are pretty fucking great.”

We all laugh. Jax lifts his own bottle of beer in the air. “My turn. The best part of my year was hearing my best friend say yes when I asked her to marry me. Em, baby, I’m so excited to see what the next chapter in our life is going to bring for us. And, I’m so lucky that I’m going to get to call you my wife.”

Em’s cheeks flush a hot pink; she gives Jax a big kiss right at the table. “Okay, me next. For me, the best part was not only getting engaged to the man of my dreams.” She settles back in her chair, her eyes narrowing in on me. “There is only one reason that we are all sitting at this table together tonight, and I think that reason should be recognized.

“Nico, the way we met may not have been ideal for anyone. But, I wouldn’t change any of it for anything. You are the reason we’re all together tonight. And I think I can speak for all of us when I say how grateful we are for that. So, from the bottom of my heart, _thank you_ for being the best part of my year. I love you.”

There are tears shining in her eyes. I feel like everyone else at the table has vanished, leaving her and I alone in a kind of intimate moment that I can relate to as a feeling I’ve only experienced with Bianca. A tidal wave of overwhelming feelings catches hard in my throat.

“Do…Do I get to go now?”

Em nods. “Yeah, of course.”

“Uhm…” I stall, chewing roughly on my lower lip. “Well…I won’t sugar coat this, but my year was…pretty shitty. I mean, I lost my…and then I…Either way. Doesn’t matter, I guess. But, the “best” part of my year is being in the lives of everyone around me right now. In your own special ways, you reminded me of what a strong, beautiful person I am. And that there’s no way I would want to ever try to give up this life I have again.” I take a big, filling breath, the tightness in my throat slowly dissolving.

“Saying thank you doesn’t even begin to cover how appreciative I am for all of you. Unfortunately, it’s all I can give you at the moment, so, thank you.”

Everyone clinks glasses. Will’s hand finds mine beneath the surface of the table and he squeezes my fingers. A sharp tingle shoots up my arm.

I guess Jax was right.

It may be a mishmash, but it’s my family.

And I can honestly say I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

* * *

I pull on my aviator jacket, tossing the hood of my pullover up over my head and making sure my gloves are shoved deep enough in the pockets.

_I’ll be on my way in a couple minutes, just have to get the keys from Em._

**I’ll be waiting xo**

Gods, I hate how Will makes me blush so easily.

Archie and Ash came over about an hour ago to rehearse for Arcadian Sharpe’s next show coming up at the beginning of January; I wait until the music stops before knocking raucously on the door.

“I’m leaving now,” I say. “Can I have the keys, please?”

Em pulls the keys to the Rubicon out of her pocket and lobs them to me. “Say hi to Will. And text me if you’re not coming home.”

She sings the last line in this growling-type voice that takes some grown men years to master, sending a deep, empowering chill down my back.

“It is SO creepy how you can do that.”

She raises her shoulders nonchalantly, but I can tell she’s proud of herself. “Practice makes perfect, Nico. Have fun.”

I check to make sure the back is stocked with everything I need for my surprise: extra blankets, a couple old pillows, cordless space heater, my Bluetooth speaker, and a large thermos full of hot chocolate, before making my way over to Will’s. I see him through the slightly-frosted glass windows of his apartment building’s lobby, clutching his backpack in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Where are we going?” he asks the second he crawls into the passenger’s seat, plopping his bag at his feet and straining against the console to kiss my cheek.

“I’m not telling you,” I say, backing out of the lot and turning down the opposite way I came. “That’s why it’s a surprise.”

Will folds his arms in a huff across his chest. “Come on,” he begs, “Can I have a least a little hint?”

“Nope.”

We drive through downtown Manhattan traffic, crawling past crowded bars and brightly lit shops. Christmas lights still twinkle red and green and gold from the lampposts lining the bustling sidewalks despite the fact Christmas came and went three days ago. Seeing the amount of people out and about, bundled up in winter jackets, toques and gloves, makes me that much more excited to reach our destination for the evening.

I take the first exit off the highway, knowing exactly which range road I need to turn at even though it’s pitch black outside. Will leans against the window, his breaths leaving behind a cloud of steam.

“You know we’re going out of the city, right?”

“Yes, babe,” I say, flicking my right indicator on and slowing down. “Trust me, I know where I’m going.”

About a mile down from the turnoff, there’s a huge field spanning about five acres. It’s surrounded by a forest of pine trees, spritzing the fresh air with a woodsy scent when a breeze blows through. It’s also enclosed with a rickety fence, some of it barbed wire, some of it rotting wooden posts; where the two of them were supposed to connect is an unfinished, gaping hole big enough for a one-ton truck to fit through.

Will’s eyes get as wide as quarters. “This is it? Nico, we just drove right past a big _No Trespassing_ sign.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I make a halfway turn so the back of the Jeep is facing away from the gate entrance before putting it into park and taking off my seatbelt. “No one ever comes out here.” I crawl awkwardly over the console, cup his face in my hands. My thumb rubs gently over his bottom lip, and his breath catches.

“Come on, let’s get in the back.”

After I put the tailgate down, we spread out a couple blankets on the bottom so we have something softer to lay on, and use the others to make a snug cocoon around us. With the added help of the space heater, it sure doesn’t feel like it’s only forty-one degrees outside.

The field doesn’t only come with a clear view of the stars; it also lets us watch the planes take off from JFK. I let Will plug his phone into my speaker, deciding it was time to open my mind to his preferred genre of country music. So far, I’ve heard the talents of Eric Church, Keith Urban, and Dallas Smith. I would never admit this to anyone except him, but it’s pretty good music.

Mostly, I just like hearing Will sing along quietly under his breath.

We’re sitting together on the tailgate, me in between Will’s leg so my back is pressed tightly against his chest. One of his arms is wrapped around my waist, the other still behind me so his fingers can card through my hair. I’m slouched at just the right angle so he’s able to rest his chin on the top of my head.

“What brought this on?”

Will’s fingers stop moving, becoming still wrapped around a lock of hair near the nape of my neck. His chin drops from my head to my shoulder, waiting for me to answer his question.

I crane my neck sideways so I’m looking into his eyes. “Does there need to be a reason?”

“No, but considering you were Mr. I Don’t Date less than two months ago, this is pretty romantic.”

I lay my head into his cheek, rubbing my hair against his skin. “I wanted to do something special for you.”

“You know you could have just taken me to a movie or something.”

“I know. I liked this idea better.”

Will sighs contently, brushing hair off the side of my neck. “Who would have thought Nico di Angelo would be such a romantic?” His breath tickles my skin, and then his lips are there, trailing a line of soft kisses from the top of my shoulder blade up to my ear.

My stomach erupts in a flit of flapping butterflies. Will’s lips are so gentle, his breath smelling like the hot chocolate we decided to just share from the thermos. His hands slip up underneath my hoodie, exploring the expanse of my torso. I unconsciously hiss, snapping my head up.

“What?” Will asks, panic colouring his voice. “I’m sorry, did I go too far? I’m so sorry…”

“No,” I manage, chuckling. “Your hands are cold.”

“Oh.” He relaxes, returning his hands to where they were. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re so hot; you’ll warm them up in a flash.”

“This isn’t fair,” I whine, wanting to get as close to him and his touch as I possibly can.

“What isn’t?” Will whispers in my ear.

My voice freezes in my throat, and all I can manage is a soft moan. “You get to run your hands all over me, and I don’t get to return the favour.”

Now it’s Will’s turn to chuckle. His hands slide from my chest to my back, rubbing slow circles on the space between my shoulder blades. “You were the one who sat in front of me,” he points out. “Besides, there will be plenty of time for you to return the favour. We have all night. There’s no need to rush.”

Something tells me he spoke too soon.

Because that’s when the cops come pulling up.

There’s two squad cars, both of them blaring sirens and flashing alternating red and blue lights. They come around either side of the Jeep, surrounding us like prey.

Will swears at the top of his lungs. I would have, too, if my voice isn’t completely trapped at the back of my throat.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Sure, that works.

“Nico, come on!” Will hisses, grabbing me by my shoulders. “We still have time to run for it!”

“Are you crazy?!” I hiss back. “Will, we’re surrounded! We don’t have time to run anywhere!”

A cop lumbers out of each car holding a flashlight. I fight the urge to laugh, because underneath the lights on the squads, a flashlight seems redundant.

“What do you boys think you’re doing out here?” the one on my left demands, pointing his beam right in my eyes. The badge on his chest reads SHIELDS. “Didn’t you see the _No Trespassing_ sign? Or does obeying the law not appeal to you?”

“Officer,” Will stammers, banging his shin on the edge of the tailgate as he stumbles to his feet, “I…We can explain.”

“Can you?” Officer Shields doesn’t see a point to move his flashlight. “Go ahead.”

“Uhm…”

“It was my fault, sir,” I jump in, ignoring the daggers Will’s sending in my direction. “It was my idea to come out here.”

“I see, and did you not bother to read the sign before you drove on in here?”

“I read it,” I admit. “I just didn’t listen to it.”

Shields’s partner, Officer Underwood, steps closer to me, digging around his belt. “So, you deliberately broke the law,” he says accusingly.

“Officers, please!” Will starts again, wringing his hands. “We’ll leave right now, and I promise it’ll never happen again!”

“It would be one thing if you boys didn’t see the sign. Both of you did, however, and still chose to ignore it.” Underwood invades my personal space and plants his large hand on my shoulder to turn me around.

They aren’t playing.

They throw those cuffs on quick.

Shields keeps me pinned against one of the cars while Will continues his attempt to talk Underwood into letting us go. His sweet-talk tactics include things like “we both have perfect records” (lie) and “we promise it will never, _ever_ happen again, and we’re _so sorry_ ” (the being sorry part is true; I can’t say the same for this never happening again).

Neither of the cops are falling for it.

But I am.

Any normal person would be shitting themselves right about, their minds racing a mile a minute, worrying about getting hauled off to jail.

Not me.

I’m too busy watching Will to be worried about going to jail.

It sounds insane, I know.

The alternating lights seem to hit Will’s face in just the right spot. Even from here, I can see his blue eyes, wild and shining with misplaced freedom. The only way Officer Underwood gets him to stop talking is when the cuffs are on and he’s stuffing him in the back of the cop car, next to me. My heart is hammering so hard in my chest, I swear both cops can hear it.

Will’s on the left. I’m on the right.

The door slams shut, and both officers make their way back to the Jeep so they can inspect it. The idea doesn’t bother me, but it’s freaking Will out.

“What are they looking for, Nico?”

“Probably drugs. Or alcohol. I’m still underage.”

“They’re not going to find any, right?”

“No, Will, of course they aren’t. Em doesn’t do drugs. And neither do we.”

“I can’t believe we actually got _arrested_.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, trying my best to ease his nerves. “I don’t think it goes on a record unless we actually get brought into the police station.”

Will exhales, slamming his back into the seat. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but it’s not working.”

“Just try to relax.”

His head falls backwards and he closes his eyes for about five seconds. “It’s not working.”

“Will,” I say softly, bumping his shoulder with mine. “You have to try harder than that, babe.”

He huffs. “What is taking them so long?”

I shrug. “They’re cops. Sometimes they make things look more serious than they actually are to get a scare out of people.”

“Well, it worked. I’m officially scared.”

“Will,” I say again, wishing I could stretch my neck enough to give him a kiss, “Don’t be scared, okay? This isn’t the end of the world.”

“We are sitting side-by-side, handcuffed, in the back of a _squad car,_ Nico!”

“I know that, but we’re only locked in here for ignoring a sign. It’s not like we were caught at the scene of a brutal murder.”

That seems to relax Will a little. He manages a miniscule little laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

I let my head drop on his shoulder. “I can’t see you as a murderer.”

“No?”

“No way. You’re way too innocent.”

Will narrows his eyes down at me. “I’d much rather be innocent than be a daredevil.”

“Are you calling me a daredevil?”

“It was _your_ idea to come out here, and you _were_ the one who drove past the sign.”

“What happened to me being Mr. Romantic?”

“That was before the cops showed up and ruined our night!”

I slam my shoulder into Will’s playfully. “What, sitting in the back of a squad car together isn’t your idea of a romantic evening?”

Will shakes his head, his blonde curls flopping back and forth. “Yeah, not really.”

“Darn.” I purse my lips. “Well, at least we’re together. I mean, they could have put us in separate cars.”

“Can you stop addressing the good points in this situation, please?”

“No, Solace. I can’t.”

Will squirms. “I hate you.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Really? That’s too bad, because I love you.”

Will freezes. So do I.

_Oh gods, Nico. You just said the L word._

“Nico…Did you just say you loved me?”

My entire body explodes in a heated, furious blush. “Uhm…Well…I mean…”

_Nico. Stop. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to Will._

“Yeah. I did. I…I love you, Will.”

The blue siren light lands on Will’s face, giving me a highlighted view of the look in his eyes. They’re abundant with emotions, wide and unblinking, so full it’s almost unreadable. His lips are minimally parted, cheeks flushed in pink and scattered with constellations of freckles.

I’m about to have an inward panic attack because Will isn’t saying anything. Then, the glossy glaze about his face disappears, and he breaks into his full, toothy grin.

“Nico di Angelo,” he whispers, “If I could move my hands right now, I would take your face and kiss you breathless. Because I love you, too.”

For the record, hearing the words “I love you” from someone like Will Solace is totally worth getting arrested.


	14. Will: For the Nights I Can't Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will, sweetheart, you really should have just said no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, posting two chapters in two days like I'm consistent or something. Thank you guys for the comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy :)

“And what if I never said to you I was dynamite?  
And what if I never told you I’m afraid to cry?  
What if I never let you down,  
And said I’m sorry for the nights I can’t remember.  
What if I never said to you I would try?”

No.

That’s all I have to say in response to Cecil’s mass text.

NYE party @ Jackson-Chase place. 9pm b there. BYOB

No.

My fingers are hovering over the keys, ready to promptly deny his impersonal invite. My phone vibrates, and his name pops up on my screen again.

I already know ur getting ready to say no. stop bein such a stick in the mud

**I’m not a stick in the mud.**

HAHAHA. K then. Srsly tho, u should come.

**Why**

U know why. It’ll b fun!!!

**I don’t think so Cecil**

Pleeeeeeeeease will? U can bring ur gothic boy toy! He already knows half the ppl who will b there

**His name is Nico. I’ll think about it. Let me ask him**

Kk!

 

**How would you feel about coming to a New Year’s party with me?**

_Seriously Will? You’re asking me to a party?_

**I know, I feel ridiculous even asking. But Cecil sent out this mass text about a party at Percy and Annabeth’s, and he’s hounding me to go**

_I should’ve known that’s the party you were talking about. I got a text from Jason about it_  
_I don’t know if I feel comfortable going_

**I thought you said you and Percy were still friends?**

_We are, but I don’t like being around him when he’s drunk. He gets super emotional and always brings up uncomfortable shit at bad times. The last time I went to one of his parties, he interrupted my conversation with Hazel to tell me about the contest he and Jason once had to see who had the bigger dick_

**… I hope you’re not upset that I have no idea how to respond to that**

_I’m not. I hope you’re not upset about me refusing to tell you what the answer was_

**I’m not. So I take it you don’t want to go?**

_Not really. But I’ll go if you go_

**I was going to say I’ll go if you go**

_… I think we just indirectly agreed on going_

**Yeah… I think you’re right**

_Hey Will?_

**Yeah Nico?**

_I love you_

**:) I love you too <3**

 

Nico picks me up precisely at 10pm (because _seriously, Will? No one shows up to a party right when it starts_ ) the next night having already made a stop at the liquor store. The backseat now holds home to a twenty-four pack of Budweiser, a bottle of Jägermeister, two packs of Red-Bull, and a mickey of raspberry Sour Puss.

“Are you supplying the whole party with booze?”

“I wasn’t sure what I was in the mood for when I went shopping,” Nico says, throwing me a sideways glance. “Will, I actually have a confession to make.”

“What’s that? You don’t want to go? That’s fine, we have time to turn around.”

“No. I won’t be able to drink any of that booze tonight.”

I furrow my brow. “Why not? We agreed that if we both got smashed, we’d call a cab. I put the number on speed dial.”

He sighs, turning off the busy main street onto an equally congested residential road. “I know. But, Jax got called into work and Em’s at home dealing with a really bad cold. She told me not to worry about it, but honestly, she looked like shit when I left. I promised her I’d come home if she needed me.”

“Aw, well that’s not a big deal. You’ll get to play nurse for her instead of the other way around.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Anyway, if she happens to call, would you mind ditching out early? I mean, you have the number for a cab if you want to stay, or you can call me and I’ll come pick you up.”

I pat his hand, glimpsing Percy and Annabeth’s house lit up at the end of the block. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I can’t believe Em still let you come out after what happened last time.”

“She’s not my mother,” Nico snickers. “It’s not like she has the authority to ground me. And I may not have told her everything that happened.” He finds a spot to park about halfway down the block; it’s the closest one we can get. “Are you ready to go in?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

A strong bass beat is audible from three houses away. Cars are clogging the streets, some parked properly on the curb, others tossed into park at a weird angle at the end of strangers’ driveways. Every window in the house is bright and shadowed with figures, excluding three on the second level.

I can’t even remember the last time I went to a house party.

The front door is propped open with a splintered piece of plywood. There’s already a small trail of trash leading into the kitchen. The music is almost deafening.

People are everywhere: crammed together on a makeshift dancefloor in the living room, playing a rowdy game of Flip Cup on the dining room table, taking shots in the kitchen. At least half the people around me are nameless, hardly recognizable enough for me to venture a long-shot guess.

“Hey, there they are!”

Jason emerges on the staircase, holding a red plastic cup in one hand and Piper’s hand in the other. He squeezes them past a couple having an off-putting conversation in the nearby corner, hurtling towards us, blocking our path to the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you guys actually showed up!”

“Neither can we,” Nico deadpans, holding up his handfuls of liquor. “Where am I supposed to put this?”

“This way, sir!” Jason spins around, leading us to the cramped kitchen and pointing to the island already overflowing with assorted drinks. “Are you guys ready to get smashed, or what?”

“Not every party is about getting smashed, Jason,” Nico responds, throwing a dirty look at the guy on the end of the beer pong table who just lost and is chugging from a solo cup. “Besides, I’m on care-for-a-sick-woman watch. I can’t drink.”

Jason looks seriously hurt. “Will?”

I sigh, scratching the back of my head. “Yeah, I guess I could. What are you drinking?”

“Vodka and root beer. Come on, I’ll mix one for you!”

I won’t lie, Jason is a decent bartender. He knows how to make a damn good drink.

Nico and I stay sandwiched together. Every couple I knew from high school is here: Percy and Annabeth, Jason and Piper, Leo and Calypso; the only two missing are Frank and Hazel. I’ve spotted Cecil and Lou on two separate occasions, once grinding each other on the dancefloor, and once shouting catcalls at each other from opposite ends of an intense game of beer pong. I was certain that I wouldn’t have a good time, but with Nico at my side and Jason’s delicious drinks in my hand, the party isn’t so bad.

Nico’s phone goes off around eleven, barely heard underneath the pulse of the DJ’s remix. Over his shoulder, I can see the caller ID. It’s Em. I can’t hear her side of the conversation, but Nico’s end sounds something like this:

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“Really, because you sound like you’re dying.”

“I’m not exaggerating, Em, you sound awful.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come home? I know you didn’t just call to check in on me.”

“Jax isn’t home yet? Okay, well…Bless you, bless you, bless you. Another one? Bless you! No, it’s okay, I’ll leave right now.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. Will and I talked about it already.”

“Yeah, I’ll find a store that’s still open. Kleenex and tea? Got it. Bye.”

He hangs up and looks at me, his nose crinkled and his lips squelched together, like he’s trying to supress a fit of giggles.

“Duty calls?” I ask, bumping his hip with mine.

“She is so stubborn,” he says. “She’s so freaking sick, and she’s all like _no, I’m fine, just called to see how the party was_. Meanwhile she coughs like she’s smoked for thirty years and has these mini sneezing fits that are so girly and so cute, gods, I don’t know how Jax can stand it.”

I laugh. “I think that’s a girl thing.”

“Do you want to come with me? I can take you home or we can go play nurse together.”

I drop my gaze down to my half-empty cup, then pull it back to meet Nico’s eyes. “Would you be really disappointed if I told you I want to stay?”

His dark eyebrows knit. “Surprised, but not disappointed. Why the change of heart?”

I shrug. “Cecil was the one who asked me to come to this party, and I have yet to speak with him or Lou tonight. Whoever’s on DJ duty actually compiled a decent mixed playlist, and don’t tell him this, but Jason makes one hell of a drink.” I set my cup down and take Nico’s hands. “You were right, I’ve spent too much of my young adult life worrying about med school and keeping up my grades. I honestly can’t even remember the last time I went to a house party. I just think it’s about time I relax and enjoy myself.”

Nico breaks into a large grin, brushing a curl away from my eyes before giving me a row of kisses. “Absolutely, it is. Have fun, okay? Please call me if you need me to come pick you up.”

“Yeah, I will. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Will.”

 

“Come on, ‘cause I know what I like,  
And you’re looking just like my type.  
Let’s go for it, just for tonight,  
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.

Now don’t even try to deny,  
We’re both going home satisfied.  
Let’s go for it, just for tonight,  
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

“CHUG, CHUG, CHUG, CHUG, CHUG!”

Cecil’s laying mouth-up underneath a freshly tapped keg, living out the dare he got from some guy named Damien. The rest of our group-me, Percy, Annabeth, Jason, Piper, Leo, Calypso, Lou, Damien’s girlfriend Chiara, and Connor and Travis Stoll-are huddled around the sliding door of the back porch, watching the shenanigans unfold. Damien’s got control of the tap, turning it on full-blast as Cecil tries to gulp it all down.

Drunken Truth or Dare is much more entertaining than Sober True or Dare. Drunken Truth or Dare has no limits, because that part of everyone’s brain responsible for making good choices is temporarily dysfunctional, drowning in a burning pool of vodka, beer, and tequila.

Hey, tequila. Nice of you to show up again.

Damien and Cecil come tearing through the sliding doors, Damien doubled over in laughter, Cecil wide-eyed and trying to wipe the mess of beer off his chin. His tolerance to alcohol reminds me of Nico’s, way higher than one would except for his size and body type.

“Okay, who’s next?” he asks triumphantly, keeping a tight grip on Lou, who’s trying to squirm away from his sticky hands. “Will, truth or dare?”

“Dare!” I say without hesitation.

Cecil tents his fingers, pure mischief twinkling in his slightly-bloodshot eyes. “I dare you to drink tequila out of Percy’s belly-button.”

Percy wolf-whistles, peeling off his t-shirt in one fluid motion. He’s got that perfect, lean-cut swimmer’s body, right down to the intriguing v-lines. “Bring it on, Solace,” he taunts, seizing the bottle of Jose Cuervo and sprawling out in the middle of the floor.

I lick my lips. Percy’s had the most to drink out of all of us, excluding Cecil’s recent encounter with the keg, and yet he’s still relatively sober. He’s already had to fish a shot from between Annabeth’s breasts, give Jason a lap dance, and play a game of strip beer pong with Calypso, which resulted in both of them down to nothing but their underwear.

I pour a reasonable amount of alcohol into Percy’s navel and lap it up as quick as I can. His skin smells like Old Spice mixed with the tiniest bit of chlorine.

_What are you doing, Will? You have Nico. And you know what kind of history Nico and Percy have._

I shake my head. The little voice has been annoying me for the last forty-five minutes, dropping inconvenient hints about Nico and how he’s not here.

_Leave me alone,_ I snap at it. _I’m having fun._

At least we nixed Connor’s idea to play Spin the Bottle.

After watching Piper put on a blindfold and kiss the first three things she gets her hands on (the fridge door, a dirty dishrag, an empty solo cup with lipstick that’s not hers smeared on the rim), Annabeth eating seven hot peppers in a row without a drink, and Lou and Travis switching clothes (bra and boxers included), we abandon the game to hit up the dance floor. My mind is fuzzy, my vision peripherally blurred, but my body is overthrown by the beat of the music and the feeling of being in the middle of a Lou-and-Piper sandwich.

“See, Will?!” Lou shouts, grinding her butt into Cecil’s pelvis as he bounces up behind her, “I told you this would be fun!”

“Guys!” Percy booms from the center of the room, cupping his hands around his mouth like a huge megaphone, “Countdown to midnight begins in ten seconds! Nine…eight…”

“Seven…six…five…”

“Four…three…two…”

“ONE!”

The whole house erupts in whoops, cheers, and hollers. The DJ sets off a cannon of multi-coloured confetti that settles over us like snow; everybody’s scrambling, trying to find someone to kiss.

I’m blindly searching for Nico, the alcoholic buzz in my brain causing me to temporarily forget about his absence. Most people have gone back to dancing, minus Percy and Annabeth, who are now freely making out in the middle of the dancefloor.

“Will!”

I snap my head around. Lou’s returned to her original position, her lip gloss now smearing up near the middle of her cheek. She grabs my face and kisses me before I have a chance to react.

It’s not like I haven’t kissed Lou before. I’ve lost count of how many times I kissed her to fend off some guy who kept trying to hit on her.

But that was different.

I don’t think I’m drunk enough for this.

I stumble back into the kitchen, now more trashed than crowded. There’s a group of people on the back deck, probably smoking, or maybe puking. Jason’s standing at the island, cracking open a new bottle of Smirnoff vodka.

“’Sup, Solace?” he greets, barely lifting his hand in an acknowledging wave.

“I need more booze,” I say. “Wanna do a shot?”

Jason straightens his crooked glasses, grinning like a madman. “Are you kidding? Doing shots is my middle name.”

“No, it’s not. Your middle name is David.”

“Details, details.” He pours some vodka into a clean cup and hands it to me before pouring one for himself. We clink cups, downing the liquid inside in one large gulp.

“Hit me again.”

“Are you alright, man? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for seeing Drunk Will again, but this isn’t usually like you. Everything okay with Nico?”

“Yes, Jason,” I say, tossing back my shot. “He told me to have fun, so that’s what I’m trying to do. Doesn’t everyone know fun lives at the bottom of a Smirnoff vodka bottle?”

Jason smirks, withholding whatever sarcastic comment I know he’s thinking of. “I have something that could help you have fun.”

“Do you? What is it?”

He holds up one finger, moonwalking over to the fridge and pulling out a large pan of brownies. “Have one of these.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Brownies, Jason? Really?”

“What’s the problem? You love brownies.”

“I don’t think that’s supposed to be the point in this.”

“Tell you what. I’ll have one, too.” He grabs a knife, cuts off a large corner square and takes a huge bite. “Come on, your turn.”

The last thing I remember clearly is taking a bite out of my own brownie.

* * *

Everything is fuzzy.

It feels like someone is constantly putting chlorinated water in my eyes. My vision is hazy and itchy. My head is empty, airy, like my brain has been removed and replaced with mounds of wet cotton.

And I’m hungry.

I’m so fucking _hungry_.

 

Someone gave me some pizza. I don’t remember who, but I’m not hungry anymore.

What am I doing here?

This couch is _so soft._

Why is there a pair of panties hanging off that lampshade?

Wait, that’s not a lampshade.

That’s some guy’s head.

 

I LOVE THIS SONG!

Don’t you just LOVE THIS SONG?!

My legs are moving, no, my whole body is moving.

I’m dancing to this awesome song!

Does anybody know what this song is called? Because it’s AWESOME.

I think there’s somebody dancing behind me.

Yup. Walls don’t talk.

Do they?

 

Jason and I keep eating brownies.

He’s right. I do love brownies.

Especially these ones. They’re just _so damn good._

Hey! I can taste the colours of the strobe lights!

“Jason! Can you taste the colour of the lights?!”

“Dude…I totally can….”

“The red is strawberry. Blue is blueberry. The green one totally tastes like apples.”

“Totally. What about yellow? I think the yellow one is like, lemon-flavoured.”

“It totally is…”

“Hey, Will?”

“Yeah?”

“I, like, hate lemons.”

“Dude. I hate lemons, too.”

 

I think the music stopped.

Darn.

I have no idea what time it is.

 

My head is pounding.

Wait, where am I again?

Oh, yeah. Party.

I don’t know where my phone is.

There’s someone laying on my chest, and their hair is in my mouth.

I think it’s Lou. Her hair always smells like coconut.

Why are you sleeping on my chest, Lou? Where’s Cecil?

Oh, there he is. On the opposite end of the couch. With his head hanging in a mop bucket.

Okay, head. You can stop now.

 

Something is vibrating in my pocket.

I wish it would stop.

It doesn’t.

Lou lifts her head off my chest and smacks my leg.

“Make your phone shut up, Will.”

“Can’t. You do it.”

“Nuh uh.” She lays back down, smothering her face into my shirt. “You smell good.”

“So do you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“G’night.”

“Yeah, night.”

 

Holy fuck.

I don’t think I could manage to even spell hangover right now.

It’s seven in the morning. Lou is passed out on top of me. How the hell am I going to get home?

_Gods._

I should have said no when I had the chance.


	15. Nico: The Crow & the Butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to not do a summary for this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry...I'm really, really sorry....
> 
> There are trigger warnings for this chapter, I can't say for what specifically without giving it away, but please be aware of that as you read :)

“When you and I were gettin’ high as outer space,  
I never thought you’d slip away.  
I guess I was just a little too late.”

“Nico? Nico, wake up.”

I roll over and peel my eyes open, blinking to rid my sleep-disturber of their early-morning blurriness. “Hmm? What’s going on?”

“You left your phone downstairs last night,” Em’s congested voice says. “I think someone’s trying to get a hold of you, it keeps beeping.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I take it from her and toss it aside. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I guess. I just wish my nose would stop running. It’s like a broken faucet, and we’re running out of tissues.”

“I just bought you some last night.”

Em sighs, scrubbing her nose. “I rest my case.”

My phone pings again. I squeeze my eyes shut and grab it, so tempted to shut it off completely. There’s no phone calls, just piles and piles of unopened texts.

I swear, if Jason or Percy or Leo included me in one of their stupid group chats…

“Maybe you should check them,” Em suggests innocently. “Will didn’t call you last night for a ride, he might need you now.” She reaches to pat my arm, then hesitates.

“Sorry, germs. I won’t touch you. I’m going to go back to bed. If you need the car, the keys are in the bowl by the front door.”

“Okay, thanks, Em.”

I have to physically scroll through my lock screen in order to count how many texts I have. Eight from Jason, six from Percy, five from Leo, three from Will, and two from a number not in my contacts. At least half of them don’t make any sense, a mangle of random letters and words associated with typical drunk texts. All three of Will’s texts are somewhat readable.

**Nicoooooooooooooo I luv u bby**

**Nico!!!!!!!!!!!! GUESS WAT. I LUV BROWNIES**

**U sexii soooo…… wanna bang???????? We shud bang**

Okay. There’s nothing crazy about any of those.

The two from the unknown number are nothing but gibberish, so I think I’m safe to ignore them without putting myself through the whole I’m sorry, I don’t recognize this number, who is this? situation. I flick my thumb sideways and press DELETE.

Leo’s are all emojis, big blocks of icons I can only assume he was using to try to tell me some sort of story. I delete those, too.

Jason and Percy’s texts are a lot of duplicates, both of them texting me the exact same thing. There’s three messages attached to videos.

The first video is Percy giving Jason a very intense, very sexual lap dance. There’s some song thumping in the background about _werk, werk, werk, werk, werk_ ; whoever’s recording the video is sloppily singing along with it in between sharp whistles and provocative jeers.

I hate this song.

Text from Jason: _**Brooooooooooo you werk werk werk werk werk ;)**_

Text from Percy: _im bringin sexy baaaaaaaaack mutha fucka_

The second video starts with Will screaming “DARE!” at the top of his lungs, followed by everyone collapsing in a fit of giggles. The person who asked him isn’t visible on the screen, telling him to go into the living room and act out a scene from a movie. Kind of a lame dare, but I know Will is pretty smashed, so this holds the potential to be hilarious.

Will holds out his hand, demanding Jason’s glasses. He slaps them on his face, crooked, and stumbles to his feet, grabbing the rolling chair from the desk pushed into the corner connecting the kitchen and the living room. Swerving around people dancing, he lines himself up to the middle of a relatively empty wall that is painted to mimic the section of brick wall in the kitchen

And then he runs, slamming into the wall and causing almost everyone to stare at him.

“I need to get to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters! We’re going to miss the train!”

Everyone erupts into booming laughter, even Will. The same faceless voice who gave him the dare is laughing the loudest.

“Dude, you are SO drunk right now!”

Text from Jason: _**I wonder when you’ll let Harry Potter here into your Chamber of Secrets….. ;)**_

Text from Percy: _how long’s it gonna take before he discovers your Chamber of Secrets death boy!!! Looks like he’s pretty good at banging!!_

Oh my gods.

The last video is mostly a close-up of Will’s face. His eyes are heavy-lidded and very bloodshot, and he’s giggling uncontrollably like a little girl.

“How many brownies have you had, Will?” another faceless voice asks him, this time belonging to a girl. Will’s mouth drops open so wide, I make out a couple silver fillings in his back molars.

“Those brownies are amazing!” he drawls, pulling on a handful of blonde curls. “I’ve already had, like, so many. Are there any more?! They are such good brownies.”

The girl laughs. “Gods, you are hilarious when you’re high!”

Drunk and high? Nice, Will.

He keeps laughing, noisily and high-pitched, a combination that I dare call annoying. “You know what else is funny? You totally KISSED ME at midnight, you slut! Imma tell Cecil! Hey, Cecil!”

The video shuts off, closing me back into my messages. The last text Jason sent me says:

_**Duuuuuude, will tastes like sunshine! U r so lucky!!** _

What the fuck, Jason. Did you kiss him, too?

Numbness spreads throughout my hands and fingers as I punch Will’s number into my keypad. It rings and rings and rings until his voicemail kicks in.

“Hey, you’ve reached Will! I can’t talk, but you can, right after you hear the-”

BEEP.

“Hey, Will, it’s me. Uhm, I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay. So, uhm, call me back when you get this, okay? Love you.”

I hang up and stare at my reflection in my phone’s blank screen for what feels like hours, but in reality is probably only minutes. Do I wait for him to call me back or text me? Do I go and search for him? Do I phone Jason? Percy? Do I go back to Percy’s house?

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

_Call first_ , the conscientious part of my brain advices. _Don’t lose your shit when you only know bits and pieces of what happened._

I dial Percy’s number first-his phone follows Will’s suit, ringing and ringing until it cuts to voicemail; then Jason’s, whose phone doesn’t ring at all, sending me straight to his message box.

Shit.

Now what?

_Wait an hour. Give Will a chance to call back. He could be at home, sleeping off his shenanigans._

Okay.

 

I somehow manage to let an hour go by, distracting myself with an array of cute cat videos on YouTube. It shames me to admit to checking my phone at least once every couple minutes, fearing I missed that call from Will.

It’s hard to miss a call that never comes.

I try Percy and Jason once more, but neither of them pick up, either.

That’s it.

I’m going on a hunt.

Most of the cars from the night before are gone. The front door is shut, and there are no lights on throughout the house. I slam the Jeep into park behind Jason’s Toyota, wracking my brain for some sense of calmness.

Nobody answers the door when I ring the doorbell, so I make a fist and commence a steady, strong pound on the front door. It doesn’t take long before a voice from inside is yelling: “Okay, okay! Jesus Christ!”

Percy throws open the door, wearing nothing but a pair of army green boxers, half of his hair plastered flat to his head, the other half sticking straight up. His blood-shot eyes are narrowed, corners crusted with sleep.

“Nice, Percy,” I state, addressing his attire, or lack thereof. “What if I was a complete stranger?”

“Then they would be starting their morning off with a lovely view. What are you doing here, Nico?”

“Are you going to let me in, or just let me stand out here like some kind of unwanted solicitor?”

He pushes the door open and steps aside. From what I can tell, the whole lower level is covered in trash; a mixed stench of beer and weed hangs in the air like unnecessary air freshener.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see you,” Percy says, interrupting my analysis of his post-party place, “But, seriously, Nico, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “You tell me.”

“What are you talking about?”

I brace myself on the back of the couch, cringing at how sticky it feels. “Look, I didn’t come here just to get a view of you in your underwear. I’m looking for Will.”

Percy’s eyes brighten; he scratches the back of his neck, trying to contain himself. “Your boyfriend is the funniest crunk I’ve ever seen. The innocent ones are the best to watch when they get all fucked up. Have you tried calling him?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” I bark. “Of course I tried calling him. He didn’t answer. And neither did you, for that matter.”

“Stupid enough to pound on my front door before 9 A.M.”

“Okay, seriously, Percy. Cut the crap for a second. Is he here?”

“The last I saw him, he was curled up on the couch about ready to pass out. Honestly, Neeks, the night’s pretty blurry for me.”

“Don’t call me Neeks.”

“Nico?”

I jump at the sound of Jason’s voice. He, thank gods, is fully clothed, his hair pushed up off his forehead.

“What are you doing here?”

“He’s looking for Will,” Percy answers, finally shrugging off his goofball attitude. “Do you know where he is?”

Jason’s brow furrows slightly, staring past both of us to search the couch. “I got up around six to get a glass of water, and he was still passed out on the couch with Lou and Markowitz. Honestly, Cecil was even more messed up than Will. If they’re not on the couch, I think we’re safe to guess they somehow found their way home. Or to Monroe’s or something-they make an amazing breakfast poutine that’s great for hangovers.” He lifts his shoulders helplessly. “Sorry, Nico. That’s all I’ve got.”

I sigh. “It’s better than nothing. How did you guys manage to get him both drunk and high?”

They share a snarky glance, one infuriating enough to give me a sudden urge to punch them both in the face. “I honestly didn’t think he would take a brownie,” Jason answers. “I kind of suggested it to him as a joke.”

“You don’t have to tell me he ate more than one brownie, Jason,” I retort. “I already know that much.”

“I wasn’t going to, but don’t ask me the exact number, because I don’t know.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Jason blows out a frustrated breath. “You heard him say he wanted to get smashed, Nico. I was just fulfilling his wishes.”

I lean back on my hands, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right. I did tell Will to have fun; maybe our definition of that word consists of two different things.

“How did you even get those brownies?” I ask. “I know you didn’t make them yourself.”

“Luke Castellan brought them,” Percy says. “We all know he saves the good shit for himself and uses whatever he’s got left in his baking.”

“Isn’t Luke still dating Thalia?”

Jason waves his hand dismissively. “They’re more on and off than a goddamn light switch. I’m pretty sure the only reason he even bothered to show up last night is because they’re “on a break” right now.”

“I see,” I muse, not interested in the status of Jason’s sister’s relationship with some guy I only know by name.

“I’m sorry, man,” Jason says, looking like he wants to put his hand on my shoulder. His glacier eyes are hooded, and I know he means it. “Do you want us to come help you look for him?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I can handle it myself. Thanks anyway, though. I’m sorry for barging in so early.”

_Fuck._

So much for that plan.

I’m about halfway to Monroe’s when my phone starts ringing, its full volume blast causing me to jump against my seatbelt. I bring the car to a complete stop at a red light before checking it; Will’s name is flashing on my screen.

“Will? Are you okay?”

“Hey, babe. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m really sorry for worrying you…”

“No, no,” I say quickly, so relieved to hear his voice. “Don’t be sorry. Where are you?”

Will hesitates. “Uhm, I’m actually at your house.”

_My house?_

“My house? What are you doing there?”

“Well, I got the cab to drop Cecil and Lou off at my place because both Lou and I are convinced that Cecil is still drunk, and I feel really, really gross and I didn’t want to deal with them, and I didn’t know what else to do so I just came here. Are you mad?”

“What? No, Will, of course I’m not mad.” I turn my left signal light on, shoulder-checking before changing lanes. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I’ll be home in ten minutes.”

Will’s already asleep on the couch by the time I get there. He’s wearing a pair of Jax’s sweats and a clean shirt; there’s a blanket wrapped around him and a barf bucket beside the couch.

For a second, I forget about everything that happened last night, including the things those stupid videos didn’t capture. I crouch down in front of Will, my eyes grazing over the innocence in his sleeping face, my fingers brushing curls out of his eyes. I know he’s sleeping hard-he doesn’t even flinch.

“ _Ti amo_ , Will,” I whisper in his ear, kissing his temple.

* * *

January 2nd

_You can’t keep doing this to yourself._

_You’re going to make yourself sick._

_Don’t ask Jason. Don’t ask Percy. Ask Will._

_Why would Will lie to you?_

 

_Wanna come over tonight? Em’s feeling way better so her and Jax are going to a movie._

**Yeah for sure. I’ll bring Chinese takeout for us, hang out and watch Netflix??**

_Sounds good babe <3_

_Just ask him. You’ll feel better once you ask him._

Will shows up armed with a large paper bag from Szechuan Palace, one our favourite takeout places. “I brought your favourite,” he says with a big Will-like smile.

“Ginger chicken and broccoli with a side of dumplings?”

“Two sides of dumplings.”

“Wow.” I stretch up to give him a kiss, which sends a hurtful pain through my chest. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Well, some of the dumplings are for me. On the contrary to what you believe, I happen to like them as well.”

We settle ourselves on the couch, bickering about what to watch before finally deciding on continuing our _Breaking Bad_ binge. My normally delicious ginger chicken and broccoli tastes like sand tonight, an unwanted aftermath of the bundle of nerves cramping my stomach.

Once I notice Will’s finished eating, and I can’t bear the thought of another tasteless bite, I grab the Xbox controller and flick the joystick to hit pause.

“Will. Can we talk?”

Will’s hands fold and unfold in his lap. “Uh oh. Do you mean, like, talk, or like, _talk_?”

I bite my lip. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Okay…What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath, wiping my clammy palms on my knees. “It’s about what happened at the party.”

Will frowns, an expression so foreign to his freckled face. “Yeah? What about it?”

“That’s it, Will. I want to know what happened. And please, don’t say nothing happened. If you don’t remember everything, fine, but I don’t think I need to remind you that you were both drunk and high.”

“Yet you reminded me of it anyway? I’ll admit it wasn’t one of the proudest nights of my life, but that doesn’t mean I deserve to be put into question. Seriously, Nico, what is it?”

I sigh, pulling my phone out of the front pocket in my hoodie. “It’s this.”

I play all three of the videos Jason sent me, watching the expression on Will’s face change from confused, to embarrassed, to mortified. When the last one stops, his eyes are expanded and his mouth hangs open in a perfectly round O.

“How…How did you get those?”

“Jason sent them to me.” I slip my phone back into my pocket. “Along with some provocative text messages.”

Will blinks, staring at me like a deer caught in headlights. I push a hand through my hair.

“Look, I don’t care about the fact that you managed to get yourself fucked up. We’ve all been there. I don’t care about the fact that you rammed a chair into a wall acting like it was supposed to be a magical barrier to get you to an enchanted train. What I do care about, however, is the fact that you kissed some random girl at midnight. Not only that, you openly admitted it on video like it didn’t bother you in the slightest.”

Will’s hands curl into fists against his knees. “It wasn’t some random girl,” he says through clenched teeth. “It was my friend Lou. And I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me.”

“Is there supposed to be a difference?” I snap at him, suddenly fuming with anger.

“Yes!” Will yelps. “She was the one who grabbed me and kissed me! If you had been there, I would’ve kissed you!”

“But because I wasn’t there, you think it’s okay to kiss someone else.”

“That’s NOT what I said!”

“You didn’t have to say it. I know what you meant.”

Will jumps off the couch, pacing around the coffee table. “How the hell would you know what I meant? Can you read my mind now? Please, let me know if you can!”

“You’re being ridiculous,” I say, not understanding until now how upset this really makes me.

“I’M being ridiculous?! Are you fucking kidding me right now?! You’re the one who’s accusing me of cheating on you!”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, you owned up to it!” I’m up off the couch now too, my feet frozen to the floor. “Oh, and why the FUCK does Jason know you taste like sunshine? Did you make out with him, too?”

“What the fuck, Nico!” Will shouts, “NO! I didn’t make out with Jason! He licked my cheek! And I didn’t make out with Lou, either!”

“A kiss is a kiss, Will.”

Will grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs on it, hard. A bright red flush is hastily creeping up his neck. “How many times do I have to tell you? LOU kissed ME. I did NOT KISS HER.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you it’s the same fucking difference in my mind!”

Will squeezes his eyes shut. “Lou has been one of my best friends since I was fifteen,” he says, no longer shouting. “Kissing her is literally _nothing_ to me. It’s like kissing your sister. You of all people should know I don’t even LIKE girls! Or has the fact that I introduce you as my _boyfriend_ not clued in yet?”

“Don’t put this on me!” I roar. “Don’t you dare act like this is all my fault!”

“I’m not! I’m trying to get my point through your thick skull!”

“I’m trying to get my point through yours!”

Will scrubs his hands over his face, taking a ragged breath. “Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry my best friend kissing me at midnight pisses you off so much.”

I scoff. “Wow. That was such a shitty apology, I’m starting to think it wasn’t one. Lucky you, at least you have the _I was drunk and high_ excuse.”

“I wasn’t high,” Will snaps, then covers his mouth.

My stomach is burning. “Oh, really? So you were still half-sober when this happened and you still allowed it? Isn’t that fucking great.”

“That’s not fair! I was still drunk!”

“No, Will.” My legs finally regain feeling, and I stomp towards him. “What’s not fair is the fact that I had to hear about this from Jason. And Percy. They both sent me the same goddamn video.”

“What did you want me to do? Call you the second it happened and say _hey, Nico, yeah I just wanted to let you know that my best friend Lou was my midnight kiss. Miss you!_ Huh? Is that what you wanted?!”

_No. Not really._

“Just shut up,” I growl. “That wasn’t my point, and you know it.”

“What was your point then, Nico? And don’t tell me to shut up!”

I ignore him. “What else did you do?”

Will narrows his eyes menacingly. “ _Excuse_ me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Clearly you guys played Truth or Dare. What other stupid things did those assholes make you do?”

“That has nothing to do with this…”

“Actually, I’ve decided it does. Better fess up now, before I ask Jason.” I can feel my own eyes narrowing. “Did you give someone a lap dance, too? Kiss anybody else while you were on a roll?”

“NO!” Will screams, stopping dead in his tracks. “The only other thing I remember doing is drinking tequila out of Percy’s belly-button. There? Are you happy now?!”

_No._

_No, I’m not happy._

_That actually makes everything worse._

“You did what…?” I choke out, unable to feel my hands and feet.

_Oh, gods, no. Don’t go numb. Not now._

“Cecil dared me, I had no choice.”

“Since when?!” I holler, now madder than ever. “Since when is obeying a dare a life-or-death situation?!”

“You asked me a question, Nico,” Will seethes. “I gave you a goddamn answer!”

I lick my lips, chewing fiercely on my knuckles. There are too many emotions flooding me right now, so fast and so intense I can barely stand.

“I should have known better.”

Will’s eyebrows contort, confusion sweeping across his face. “What do you mean?”

“I should have known something like this would happen when someone like me goes out with someone like you.” I scoff and roll my eyes. “I am so stupid.”

Will comes closer to me and tries to take my hands; I yank them away and step back. “Don’t touch me.”

“Please, Nico, what are you trying to say?”

I look down at my hands. They’re shaking. “We’re so different, Will. We don’t belong together.”

Will’s lower lip trembles. “No, Nico, that’s not true…”

“Stop. Yes, it is. Look at you. You’re like this gorgeous, happy, positive, sunshine-y person who always has a smile on their face and gets along with everyone and everyone likes you. Look at me. I’m like this dark, depressive, pessimistic _thing_ that would rather be holed up alone in my room than surrounded by people.”

“You are not a _thing_ ,” Will states firmly. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s true. I’m not even supposed to be alive. I should have died five months ago, when I fucking tried to. Gods, I can’t even commit suicide right.”

“Nico…”

“No, Will.” My voice cracks. “You know I’m right.”

“But, you’re not…” he tries.

“NO! I am! You of all people should know that! Why? Because YOU’RE THE ONE WHO PRESCRIBED THE FUCKING ANTI-DEPRESSANTS I HAVE TO TAKE!” My vision is getting blurrier by the second; I refuse to let myself cry in front of him. “You DESERVE someone who is like you, Will. Someone who can make you feel as good as you make other people feel.”

Will doesn’t say anything this time. His blue eyes are glossy, full of tears ready to spill at any given moment. His lips are pressed in a thin, wavering line.

“Get out,” I manage. My vision is so fogged, I couldn’t look at him if I tried.

Will makes another notion to argue, but I hold out my hand to stop him.

“Just get out, Will. Go. I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. We’re done. Get out. Now.”

Will’s footsteps make heavy thudding sounds as he walks away. Tears leak over my eyelids.

I don’t stop them.

 

_Useless, useless, useless._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

_No one is ever going to love you again._

_He never loved you._

_You had to have known you were never going to be good enough for him._

_Now you’re all alone._

_You deserve to be alone._

I never thought I would hear that voice again.

It hasn’t left me alone since the night Will left.

_He left you._

_He’s not coming back._

I don’t know how to stop it, but I know where it comes from.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression.

It’s like a repetitive, endless loop.

I hate how bright the bathroom light is, its partnered, annoying buzz ringing in my ears. My hands are gripping the sides of the sink. The tap keeps running.

I hardly recognize the man staring at me in the mirror. His face is pale, tearstained, his dark eyes bagged with large purple bruises. His hair is dishevelled, unwashed and unkempt.

_Nobody is going to love you._

_Not everyone gets a second chance._

_Don’t waste this one._

No.

It’s not true. It’s lying.

_You already know what to do._

I can’t feel my hands.

Wait.

Why is there blood on my hands?

No. You can’t do this.

_Oh, yes I can_.

Someone’s knocking on the bathroom door.

“Nico?” Em calls. “Are you okay in there? The tap has been running for a while.”

I’m fine, Em. I’m okay. Everything’s okay.

_It’s not okay, and you know it._

She knocks again. “Nico? Why is the door locked? What are you doing in there?”

I want to go open the door for her, let her in to show her everything’s alright. My legs refuse to move. There’s more blood on my hands now, trickling down my palms and dripping off fingers.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

“Nico, open this door right now!”

I can’t, Em. I can’t open the door!

“JACKSON!”

She said his whole name. Oh, gods, she said his whole name.

_Hurry up…_

_You’re running out of time._

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Call 911, right now.”

“WHAT? Why?”

“Just do it! Tell them to send an ambulance. Hurry!”

_Yes, hurry._

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

“Nico, whatever you’re doing, please stop! It doesn’t have to be like this!”

_Yes, it does._

I’m not doing anything, Em! I swear!

_You already have._

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

BANG!

“No!”

_You’re too late._

I can’t feel anything.

And then it all goes black.


	16. Will: After the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the aftermath of that night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am SO SORRY about my last chapter and how it ended. It turned out to be more intense than I had originally intended. I hope you all forgive me and that this chapter makes up for it

“Everybody says that life takes patience,  
But nobody wants to wait.  
Everyone says we need salvation,  
But nobody wants to be saved.  
The light in the tunnel is just another runaway train.  
The blue skies we wait on,  
Are gonna have to come after the rain.”

TWO DAYS EARLIER

The clock on my nightstand seems to be endlessly blinking at me, telling me over and over again that it’s past one in the afternoon, like it’s trying to be some kind of motive to get me out of bed.

If I had any motive to get out of bed, I would.

But, I don’t. So I’m not.

I don’t remember the last time I took a shower.

How sad is that?

Sad? Sad doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel.

Gods, I am _so stupid._

I should have said no. I should’ve left when Nico did. I had the chances to bail and I ignored them like a selfish idiot. Why? All because I wanted to have fun.

I’m never going to drink or eat another brownie ever again.

I pull the covers over my head, rolling onto my side so I’m facing away from my bedroom door. Maybe if I lay here like this for long enough, I’ll regain a stable enough grip on sleep to salvage a few uninterrupted hours.

That is, until someone feels it necessary to start knocking on my door.

_Or not._

“Go away!” I shout, figuring it’s probably some door-to-door salesperson or the old lady from down the hall who stops by at least once a week to ask for a cup of sugar and show me pictures of her six cats. The doorknob jiggles, and I hear the door swing open.

“Will?” Lou’s voice rings out. “I know you’re here, I saw your car downstairs. You can’t keep ignoring me forever.”

_Yes, I can._

“What part of “go away!” did you not understand?”

“All of it,” she answers, her voice seeping through my closed bedroom door. “Are you going to let me in or do I have to break the door down?”

“It’s open,” I snap. “You don’t have to break anything.”

She comes into my room and sits on the end of my bed; I can smell her coconut shampoo. My stomach lurches.

“What do you want, Lou?”

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last two days. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?” Lou questions, her voice tinged with annoyance. “Lying in bed and feeling sorry for yourself?”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

She shrugs and sighs, shifting her weight. “Do you want to talk about it? All Cecil and I got was a text saying you and Nico broke up, but you didn’t tell us why. We’ve been really worried about you.”

I rip the covers off and sit up, forcing myself to finally look at her. Despite the tone of her voice, her eyes are cloudy, hazed with concern.

“Well, you don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

Lou frowns, her eyebrows shifting inquiringly. “It’s early afternoon and you’re still in bed. Clearly you’re not fine.”

“Yeah, well what difference does it make?”

“More than you might think.”

Her jaw sets, and I know that’s her I’m serious look. She’s not going to leave until I talk to her.

“What do you want me to tell you, Lou?” I ask.

She draws her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on top. “I want you to tell me whatever you want, as long as it’s the truth, and something more than just Nico and I broke up. You’re my best friend, Will. I care about what happens to you.”

I sigh. “If I tell you the truth, do you promise to tell me the truth when I ask you something?”

“What’s that?”

“You’re just my best friend, right? That’s all we are, right?”

“Yes…” she says slowly, her lips coming to a purse. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I need to make sure that New Year’s kiss didn’t mean anything else.”

Lou wrinkles her nose. “Why would it? Will, Cecil and I have been together for almost two years. Plus, there’s the very real fact that you are not interested in girls. That kiss was nothing more than a joke. Besides, I kissed Cecil first.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Well, joke or not, that kiss is why Nico and I broke up.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Jason got the conversation we had about how high I was and that you kissed me at midnight on video, and he sent it to Nico in his state of drunken idiocrasy.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Why would he dare Percy to give him a lap dance? It’s Jason. He doesn’t need a reason.” I roll my eyes, and Lou rolls hers.

“Did you tell Nico that we’ve been best friends since sophomore year and that kissing me is equivalent to kissing your sister? Even though you don’t have a sister.”

I nod. “He said that didn’t matter. A kiss was still a kiss.”

Lou pulls on her fingers, a nervous habit she developed as a kid. “Shit, Will. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

My head wants to tell her it’s okay, but my heart steps in, blocking the path.

_No! No it’s not okay!_

“I messed up, Lou,” I murmur. “I messed up and now he’s gone, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get him back.”

Lou exhales quietly, scooting closer to me. She puts her arms around me and rests her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Will. I really am.”

“I know you are,” I whisper. “Lou?”

“Yes?”

“I loved him. I still love him.”

Her hands rub up and down my arms, like my mom’s used to when I was little. “I know you do. And something tells me he still loves you, too.”

We sit in silence for a while, until she lets me go and stand up.

“Come on,” she says. “Get up, take a shower, and change your clothes. When was the last time you had something to eat?”

I close my eyes. “What day is it?”

“Monday.”

“Uhm, Friday, I think. Maybe Saturday. I can’t remember.”

Lou smiles sadly. “Up. Shower. Change. I’ll make you something to eat.”

 

My phone is ringing.

I ignore it. It’s probably Lou or Cecil and I don’t feel like talking to either of them.

It stops ringing and immediately starts again, startling me. I grab my phone to check the caller ID, surprised to see Em’s name coming up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Will, it’s Em, uhm, are you busy at the moment?”

The panic, the edge in her voice makes my heart plummet to my stomach. “No…Why? Is everything okay?”

She sighs nervously. “No, not really, uhm, we’re at the hospital. Something happened with Nico. We don’t know exactly what, yet, they just took him in to one of the trauma rooms…”

_No. No, no, no, no, no._

“…I’m not sure what happened between you two, and I understand if you don’t want to come…”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Let’s just say I’m lucky I don’t get stopped by the cops along the way.

I fly through the entrance to the emergency department, almost slipping on a patch of melting slush. My eyes are flitting everything, trying to locate someone I know.

There’s Jax. He’s alone.

Where’s Em?

“Will.” Jax grabs my shoulders, preventing me from tearing into the department. “Will, you have to calm down.”

“What’s going on with him?” I demand, twisting and squirming out of his strong grip. “What happened?!”

“Will,” Jax says again, tightening his grip even more. “Please. Calm down. They won’t let you back there if you can’t control yourself.”

I make an effort to breathe deeply, pushing my hands over my face. “What’s happening?” I whisper, my voice raw and hoarse.

Jax exhales. “I don’t know exactly. All I did was phone 911, and I wasn’t allowed to ride in the ambulance; I followed it in my car. I don’t speak psychiatry, either.” He lets me go, patting my shoulder comfortingly. “Em is talking with Dr. Parker and Dr. Blofis. You can ask her when she comes back. For now, you should just sit down. I’ll get you a drink of water.”

A few minutes later, all three of them emerge through the swinging doorways to the actual emergency department. Em is rubbing her arms, looking lost and concerned. Jax and I both scramble back to our feet.

The trio exchange a few more words and worried glances, too far away to be heard or deciphered. Dr. Parker shakes Em’s hand, and Dr. Blofis puts his own hand on her shoulder. All three of them gaze in our direction.

“What do you think they’re saying?” Jax asks, craning his neck as if that’ll help him get a better look.

I shrug helplessly. “I don’t know.”

Gods, I’ve never felt so helpless.

Em refuses to look at us as she walks towards us, keeping her head down and her hand tight on her arm. Then, without much of a warning, she hurtles herself into my arms and buries her face in my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Will. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” I murmur, using every ounce of strength I can muster to keep my shit together. “Em, what happened?”

She pulls away from me, hastily wiping her face. “He’d been acting really weird ever since that night we went to the movies. He barely bothered to eat, he spent most of his time cooped up alone in his room. Whenever either of us” -she points to Jax, then herself- “asked him if something was bothering him, his response was either “nothing’s wrong, I’m fine” or he would just tune us out. It made me uncomfortably nervous, but I figured he would tell us when he was ready. So I didn’t push him.

“I could hear the tap running upstairs. I went up to check on him, and the door was locked. He didn’t answer me when I knocked. I knew something was wrong.” Her hands grip the hem of her cardigan, twisting the fabric around her fingers. “We somehow got the door open, and he was just standing at the sink, staring at himself in the mirror, gripping the sides of the counter like his life depended on it. I tried to talk to him, get him to respond, but he was completely frozen. And then he just collapsed on the floor, and his right eye started doing this really weird twitchy thing.”

“Like a seizure?” I ask, thankful for Jax’s hand returning to my shoulder.

Em chews thoughtfully on her thumbnail. “I’m not sure, maybe. They managed to get him stabilized. They started a large fluid drip and altered his meds in order to get him to settle down. Both Dr. Blofis and Dr. Parker have diagnosed him with a psychogenic blackout.”

“A psychogenic blackout,” I repeat slowly. “So, he wasn’t harming himself? Or trying to harm himself?”

“No. They said he might have been going through something like a repressed memory, reliving flashbacks of a time where he was self-harming, but they couldn’t find signs of anything new or recent. Not even traces.”

“Hold on,” Jax interrupts, raising both his palms in the air. “Let’s back up for a second. What’s a psychogenic blackout?”

“It’s considered an involuntary reaction the brain produces when it undergoes intense pressure and distress,” I explain. “They can occur in patients who have undergone mistreatment or traumas, like a complication from brain surgery or skull-crushing injuries like accidents, but they can also be the result of a horrific experience that the patient hasn’t come to terms with yet.”

“They’re basically caused by a temporary dysfunction of the brain,” Em adds, twirling a few curls around her index finger. “The stress can arise from a number of things, like threatening feelings, situations, thoughts or memories. Often, it’s related to upsetting or frightening situations, sometimes significant losses or change.”

“Like a breakup?” Jax’s eyes shift nervously in my direction.

She nods, refusing to look at me. “It may not have come directly from the stress itself, instead triggering a past experience, making the brain feel overloaded and eventually cause it to shut down.”

“He’s going to be okay though, right?” My voice cracks, and I make no notion to mask it.

Em’s half-smile is only somewhat comforting. She reaches up and strokes my cheek with her thumb, making me realize I’m crying.

“He’s going to be fine,” she says gently. “Don’t cry, sweetie. It’s okay.”

I shake my head feverishly, getting closer and closer to my breaking point. “No, Em, it’s not okay. This is all my fault.”

“Will…”

“No, Em. No. I fucked up, and I caused this, and it’s my fault. There’s no opposing argument. I’m the only one who can fix it. I have to fix this!”

Em takes my face in both of her hands, keeping up with wiping the steady stream of tears coursing down my cheeks. “Will.” She whispers my name so softly it feels like my heart is breaking into a million little pieces. “Not tonight, okay? He needs to rest. They’re keeping him in a private ICU room until tomorrow, then Dr. Blofis wants him back in psych so he can do another seventy-two-hour assessment. Hey.” She tilts my chin up so my eyes meet hers. “It will all work out. I know it will.”

* * *

Sleeping cramped up in a hard, plastic chair was definitely not part of my plans.

They didn’t let us stay the night they kept Nico in the ICU. Around three in the morning, a crabby nurse marched out to the waiting room and ordered all of us to go home. Em tried to reason with her, saying she worked in the psych unit and no, we weren’t family, but we were close, personal friends, but the nurse wasn’t having it. She pointed to the door and told us to go, that we were crowding her waiting room.

Nice.

Dr. Blofis is much more understanding. He and Sally welcomed their baby girl, Hadley Aurora, on Christmas Eve, and I think that’s softened him a little. Psych doesn’t normally allow visitors past 8P.M., but he doesn’t bat an eye at the fact that either Em or I spend the night sleeping next to Nico’s bed. Sometimes it’s both of us.

She’s already awake when I peel my eyes open, curled in on herself with her cheek on her knees. Her curls are loose around her face, falling in perfect spirals.

“Morning,” she mumbles.

“Morning. How long have you been awake?”

“I dunno, maybe an hour? I was waiting for you to wake up before I went on a coffee run. Do you want your usual?”

I stretch my hands high above my head, stifling a lion-sized yawn. “Sure, please. Thanks.”

Nico continues to peacefully sleep. I pull out my phone, resting back in my chair and opening one of the numerous books I have saved in my e-reader app.

“Will.”

“Holy shit!” My phone slips from my hand; I have to fumble for it to save it from clattering to the floor. Nico’s staring at me, eyes wide. “You’re awake.”

“I’ve been awake for a while,” he says. “I guess I’m just really good at pretending. I was waiting for Em to leave.”

I lick my lips, my heart pounding against my ribcage. “Why?”

He shifts himself up to a seated position, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “What are you doing here, Will?”

I hesitate, gripping the plastic arms of my chair. Nico’s voice is gentle, almost endearing, like his curiosity isn’t stemming from an angered frame of mind. His mouth is neutral, neither smiling nor frowning.

“Uhm…”

Nico chuckles, and my heart is about ready to leap out of my throat. “You don’t have to answer that. It was rhetorical.”

I clear my throat. “Was it really, Nico?”

His jaw sets, a stark contrast to the brightness in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything.

His silence tempts me to go back to reading. I turn my phone over on my leg, fingers tapping a beat on the dark screen.

“It wasn’t.”

I jerk my head up. “Oh.”

“Do I have to ask it again?”

His tone hasn’t changed. I shake my head. “No, you don’t.”

“Alright.”

“I’m not sure if I have the answer you’re looking for, though.”

Nico looks sideways at me, the smallest of smiles curving his chapped lips. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

I drum my fingers on my knee, inwardly screaming at myself to keep it together. “Em called me the night they brought you here. She told me what happened.”

“That isn’t exactly what I would call an answer.” Nico smirks. “More like a fact.”

“Well…I guess I’m here because…Well, because…”

“Has anyone told you that you are a horrible liar?”

My whole face burns. “More than once.”

“You can tell me the truth, Will,” he says. “Please, just tell me the truth.”

_The truth._

“Okay.” I bring my chair closer to the side of his bed, the legs making a horrible scraping sound on the flecked tile floor. “Here’s the truth. I’m here because I care about you, Nico. Even though you don’t care about me anymore, I couldn’t bring myself to just let you disappear from my life like nothing ever happened. Your safety and your happiness are beyond important to me. And when I found out what happened…what _could have_ happened, I mean…I would have never been able to live with myself. I was so scared.” I inhale slowly through my nose, thankful my hands have quit shaking.

“I guess what I’m trying to say…is that I still love you, Nico. And this last week without you has been the worst week of my life. I swear I’m not exaggerating. I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I laid in bed, in the dark, and listened to Ed Sheeran on a loop. I missed you so much.”

Nico’s face is slack, expressionless. His hands have commenced a steady vibrate in his lap.

“Is that it?” he asks, tears welling in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “That’s it. I love you. And I miss you. And there are not enough words in the dictionary to explain how sorry I am. For everything.”

He’s quiet again as he turns his head away from me. He lifts the back of his hand and swipes it across his eyes.

“I’m going to go now,” I say, ready to leap out of my chair and book it to the door. Nico’s thin, artistic fingers clasp my wrist.

“Don’t go.”

His simple touch is enough to unravel me right there. I shift my weight back to him, anxious, waiting.

Nico’s eyes are huge and glossy; tears are slipping past his lids and sliding down his cheeks. His lips are parted. His breaths are low, shallow.

“Will.”

I can’t take it anymore. I’m coming undone.

I crawl up on Nico’s bed, careful to avoid bumping his IV line or any wires. Tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, I lick my lips and kiss him.

It starts out soft, gentle, quickly turning into one full of want, need, and desperation. Nico fists the front of my t-shirt, pulling me down on top of him, obviously not caring about any of the things he’s hooked up to. His hands explore everywhere, touching every part of me he can reach.

Every single inch of my body is on fire. Sparks of electricity are showering my spine, tingling my fingertips and curling my toes. I couldn’t count the number of crazed butterflies in my stomach if I tried. My heart is crawling up my throat, eager to burst forth and scream and jump for joy.

Nico’s cheeks are wet. I force myself to break our kiss, wiping his tears away with my thumb.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

He shakes his head, pulling me closer to him. He leans forward, barely capturing my lips again. “I am so sorry, Will,” he sobs. “I was so scared to love you because I didn’t think I deserved you, and all it did was turn me into a jealous freak and I didn’t even listen to you when you tried to explain…”

I kiss him to make him quiet. “You don’t have to be sorry, baby.”

“I am sorry.”

“I know. I’m sorry, too.”

Nico’s fingers caress my face, starting at the top of my forehead, over my left eye, down my cheek, across my nose, my lips, my chin, and back up again. “Gods, I miss you _so much_. Losing you was the more horrible thing I’ve ever gone through. I didn’t know a person was _capable_ of feeling so empty…”

“You don’t have to feel that way ever again,” I tell him. “Because I am not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

Nico shakes his head again. “I’m not stuck with you. I’m stuck _to_ you.” He gives me another tender kiss, leaving me craving for more.

“I love you, Will Solace.”

“I love _you_ , Nico di Angelo.”


	17. Nico: Maybe It's Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anniversary of Bianca's death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long to update again. I went through a bit of a writer's block spell, but I think it's better now. This chapter is kind of like a sad but cute chapter, if that makes any sense. I hope you enjoy it!

“And this was self-inflicted,  
Yeah, I was on a mission,  
To ruin everything in life.  
But now I’m so damn ready,  
Just take my hand and steady,  
And we will make it through the night.”

“I can’t believe we actually did that.”

“Come on, it was fun!”

“It was embarrassing! I fell more times than that little four-year-old boy! And he had a walker!”

Will laughs, removing the lid from his hot chocolate and swiping his finger over the top of the whipped-cream mound the barista put on it. “Everyone falls lots the first time they go skating. I asked you if you wanted one of those walkers, and you said no.”

I wrap my frozen fingers around my chai latte, which is too hot to drink. “Yeah, well I wasn’t ready to completely surrender my dignity.”

“In that case, you subject yourself to a multitude of falls.”

Will’s cheeks and the tip of his nose are chilled pink, softening the stark array of freckles on his face; his bouncy blonde curls are flattened to his head thanks to the pom-pom hat he was wearing on the ice rink.

He is so. Damn. Cute.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

I drop my gaze down, pretending to doodle on the lid of my cup. “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

Will smirks, taking a sip of his hot chocolate, getting a smudge of whipped cream on his upper lip. As he wipes it away with his napkin, all I can think about is slowly licking it off him, capturing his lips in a kiss and letting my tongue slide in and out of his mouth…

“Okay, now I know you’re thinking about something.”

“Huh?”

Will leans across the table and rubs his hands up and down my arms. “You had this faraway look on your face. What were you thinking about?”

I clear my throat and cross my legs under the table, desperate to ignore what’s going on down there. A crowded Starbucks is _not_ the ideal place to succumb to an erection.

“Nothing,” I answer, feigning an innocent smile.

“Alright.” He stretches back to a regular sitting position, placing the lid back on his drink. “Thanks for coming skating with me.”

“It was your turn to pick what we did.”

“Did you at least have a little fun?”

I shrug, not exactly wanting to give him full satisfaction. “A little. We’ll see how black and blue I am tomorrow.”

Will rolls his eyes and grins. “Do you wanna get going? Or do you want to stay?”

I squint to read the time displayed on the clock behind the counter. “We can go. Wanna come back to my place? Archie and Ash are coming over for a band practice; they’ll all stay downstairs and leave us alone.”

“Yeah, sure. Do you ever get to hear them practice?”

“Sometimes.” I shrug. “I usually don’t like sitting in on their practices because it makes me feel like part of a teeny-bopper posse. And sometimes they go until really late, like, late by my standards.”

Will chuckles. “What’s late by your standards?”

“Like, three-thirty, four in the morning.”

Now it’s Will’s turn to shrug. “That’s showbiz, I guess. You’ve got to put in the long hours to get the reward.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Archie and Ash are actually gone by the time we get home, which is strange-it’s only 10 P.M. Even when they wrap up early, they usually order pizza and mess around for a while, mixing songs together, adding cool riffs and changing lyrics. They must have left the door open; soft music is wafting up the stairs.

I reach back for Will’s hand. “Will, come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just come on.”

He reluctantly follows me down the stairs. We crouch down at the bottom, and I gently nudge the door open more with my foot.

Em and Jax are alone, sitting on stools in the middle of the room. Most of the main lights have been turned off, leaving the dimmed accent lights over Em’s guitars, Jax’s drum set, and the amp stacks. Jax is the one strumming an acoustic; Em’s hands are tapping on her knees along with the beat.

“They’ve been doing this a lot lately,” I whisper, wrapping both of my hands around the hand of Will’s I’m holding. “They come downstairs after supper and they just play and sing to each other. I feel like it serves as a relaxation technique for them.”

“And they don’t mind you listening?” Will asks, his voice mimicking my hushed tone.

“If they do, they haven’t said anything. I don’t go in; I mostly just sit right here, close my eyes, and let my mind drift away.” I sigh quietly, leaning back into Will’s shoulder. “I love listening to them. They sound so perfect together.”

“When you’re at the end of the road,  
And you lost all sense of control.  
And your thoughts have taken their toll,  
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul.  
Your faith walks on broken glass,  
And the hangover doesn’t pass.  
Nothing’s ever built to last.  
You’re in ruins.”

“Gods, I love this song.”

Will shifts a little, then the heat of his body behind me disappears. His knees pop as he stands up.

“C’mere.”

“Why?”

“Just stand up, Nico.” I do. He holds his arms open. “C’mere.”

“One, 21 guns.  
Lay down your arms,  
Give up the fight.  
One, 21 guns,  
Throw up your arms into the sky.  
You and I…”

Will’s strong arms come around me, holding me tight to his chest. One of his hands settles on the small of my back, the other gently cups the back of my neck, fingers tangled in the black curls at the nape. His cheek rests just above my right ear. We’re swaying, shuffling our feet barely in time to the music.

I feel like I could melt right there, dissolve my entirety in a puddle of jelly at Will’s feet. I bury my face in his shirt, letting myself fall into a rhythmic pattern of inhale and exhale; his comforting scent and the melodic harmonizing of Em and Jax’s voices together strips me of what seems like every negative feeling I’ve ever had.

Will is singing along softly in my ear. His subtle Southern drawl adds a personalized twist to the classic tune, and to me, it’s never sounded more beautiful.

“I didn’t know you knew this song,” I mumble, resting my head on his sternum so I can hear his heartbeat.

“I don’t live under a rock in the musical word, Nico,” Will laughs, brushing a kiss to my temple. “And it’s not like this song is unheard of.”

“Yeah, well it’s certainly no Eric Church.”

“You’re right, it’s Green Day. I’m surprised you remembered Eric Church.”

I shrug, nestling closer to him. “Don’t ever repeat this, but Eric Church is pretty alright.”

A visual of Will’s face is unnecessary-I know he’s smiling, full teeth and dimples. He wraps his arms tighter around me and kisses the top of my head. “Green Day is pretty alright, too.”

* * *

January 31st

My twenty-first birthday came and went three days ago. I had separate pleas from both Em and Will, begging me to let them plan some sort of extravagant party celebration, since turning twenty-one in their minds counts as a big deal. They must have gotten tired of hearing me say “no”, because they finally stopped asking. Instead, I invited Jason, Piper, Percy, Annabeth, Leo, and Calypso to join us for an agreed upon birthday supper, and all ten of us went to Monroe’s. Because it was my birthday, my sundae was free.

But that was three days ago.

Now, it’s today.

_The_ day.

I can’t believe it’s been a whole year already.

The sun is shining high and bright, even early in the morning. There’s a pit in my stomach, though surprisingly not as heavy as I have been anticipating, pressing on my diaphragm and making it uncomfortable to swallow. I wriggle all of my fingers and toes, so relieved to have feeling in every digit.

The house is quiet, Em already long gone to work. She left me a note by the half-empty coffee pot, telling me to embrace today like the strong person she knows I am, and to remember that she loves me. I’m allowed to call her at work as many times as I feel needed.

I pour myself a large cup of coffee, today adding only sugar rather than cream. I lean against the island, clasping my mug with both hands and close my eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun stream over me. Bianca’s unique cinnamon scent lingers through my senses.

Up until today, the mere hint of that smell twisted my stomach into such knots a boy scout couldn’t untangle them. It drove the dullest wedge into my heart, which brings waves of pain much worse than anything sharp. It filled my mind with forlorn memories, ones so unworthy of my sister.

It’s different today.

My stomach is relaxed. My heart is calm. My mind is quiet.

I think I can finally say I’m at peace.

A sharp shiver snakes down my spine; goosebumps prickle my forearms.

_I love you, Nico,_ Bianca’s voice whispers.

I blink repeatedly, convinced the voice came from somewhere inside my head, even though it feels like she’s right next to me and whispered it in my ear. I take a long, slow breath.

“I love you, too, Bianca,” I say out loud.

A second rush ripples across my shoulders. The corners of my mouth are pulled up in a soft smile.

The front door opens and slams shut, startling me out of my serene. I set my coffee cup down and peek around the corner-Jax is stumbling up the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Are you just getting _home_?” I wonder, squinting to read the clock on the stove.

He blinks and stops, ramming his hip into a dining room chair. “Oh, hey, I didn’t expect anybody to be up.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

I step closer to him, worried he’s going to keel over right there and whack his head on something. “It’s, like, eight in the morning, man.”

Jax yawns loudly again. “Really? Huh.”

“I think we’re permitted to classify this as a whole new meaning to “working late”,” I say. “Did they let you take breaks at least?”

“I think I slept for about twenty minutes,” he answers. “Not in a row. I don’t remember driving home.”

“Yeah, that’s not safe.”

He shrugs. “I’m going to go sack out for twelve hours. I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Oh, and if my work phones, answer it and tell them to piss on it.”

I can’t help chuckling, knowing he’s dead serious. “You got it, sir.”

“Don’t become a biochemist, Nico. I’m sure it’ll work itself out in the long run, but right now, it’s a bitch.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I assure him with a nod. “Go get some sleep.”

I call Will as soon as I hear the bedroom door close upstairs, not exactly concerned about the fact that it’s Saturday and he’s most likely still sleeping. He answers groggily on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe.”

Will groans a little. “Hi, sweetheart. Is everything okay? You don’t usually call this early.”

“I know. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He sounds alert now. “What’s up?”

“You know how we had plans to go to the movies today?”

“Yes.”

I stall for a second, my breath catching. “Would it be okay if we changed them?”

“Sure,” Will says quickly, confusion muddled in the slight warble of his voice. “What did you have in mind?”

“There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

 

Will doesn’t question me when I pick him up later that day and turn down the road leading to the general cemetery. Once we pull into an empty parking spot, he reaches across the console and takes my hand.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

I nod, giving his fingers a light squeeze. “I’m sure.”

I haven’t been to Bianca’s grave since before I tried to end my life. Part of me has ached to go back, overshadowed by the much larger component of me that continuously told me my sister would be highly disappointed with my choice and would not wish my presence at her resting place. I have been to the cemetery, however-Aidan is buried here, too, and I’ve come with Em a couple times to visit him. The plot next to him is empty, reserved for her when it’s her turn to go. When it’s _actually_ her turn to go.

Bianca’s gravesite is placed between a woman who lived to be one-hundred-and-three, and an infant barely able to survive their first day of life. I didn’t notice the paradox at first, too narrow-minded on the fact that my sister’s name was written on the headstone in front of me. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to-the age difference in her side-by-sides, seeing her name will probably haunt me for the rest of my life-now showing me death does not have any kind of preference. It takes whatever and whoever it wants.

We stop in front of the snow-dusted plot and I wait for the tidal waves of dread. Will squeezes my hand hard.

It’s not so bad with him next to me.

There are no tidal waves. Not even as I read her name.

**BIANCA DI ANGELO**   
**August 8, 1992 – January 31, 2016**

_Ageless beauty, running wild_

“Hey, B,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit you in so long. I have my reasons why, but they’re really nothing more than excuses.” I let go of Will’s hand and crouch down. “I really am so sorry.”

Warm sunlight touches the back of my neck. A soft breeze follows.

“I have someone I want you to meet.”

I look up at Will, who’s subtly blushing, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his ski jacket. His eyes are glossy.

“Bianca, this is my boyfriend, Will.”

Will kneels down beside me, pressing his shoulder comfortingly against mine. “Hi, Bianca,” he says, staring longingly at her name. “It’s nice to meet you. Nico has told me so many wonderful things about you.”

There’s a pause, and another rustle of gentle breeze that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. My sister’s lilting little laugh whistles through my ears.

“Did you hear that?” I ask.

Will’s eyes are kind, sparkling in the sun. He nods.

“Your sister has a really pretty laugh.”

My heart squelches in my chest. Will being able to hear Bianca laugh is pretty much better than anything I could have ever asked for.

We sit for a while, both of us ignoring the cold, growing wet spots on our butts. Will and I take turns telling stories, starting with the very first day we met-bright and early in the morning, literally in the middle of the psych unit-and ending with our little romantic moment at the bottom of the stairs the other night-slow dancing to Green Day and Billy Currington songs sung by two of your best friends is now one of my favourite romantic things. I hear Bianca’s laugh so often, echoing through the wind or blowing through the trees.

I miss her laugh. Her laugh is so beautiful. _She_ is beautiful.

No, not _was. Is_. I refuse to consider my sister a _was_.

People probably think we’re crazy, sitting in the snow at someone’s gravesite, talking and joking like the person is sitting with us instead of buried in the ground beneath us. Will’s hand has not left me, whether his fingers are entangled in mine or cupped over my knee or rubbing small circles in the space between my shoulder blades. I never thought I would be able to experience comfort in any space around my sister’s grave, but being around Will continues to prove me wrong.

“Can I ask you something?”

Will shifts his weight, facing me so he can take both of my hands instead of just one. “Of course you can.”

“Do you think this is weird?”

Will’s forehead creases. “What? Of course not. Why would you ask me that?”

I lift my shoulders. “Because our original plan for today consisted of us going to the new Mark Wahlberg movie and instead we’re sitting in a graveyard, talking to my dead sister.”

He copies my shrug, a coy smile playing on his lips. “Why does that make this weird? First anniversaries are always the hardest. If sitting in a graveyard talking to your dead sister is how you want to spend it, then that’s what we’re going to do.”

“I can’t thank you enough for being here with me.”

Will shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “I love you, and I’m always here for you.”

We stay for a bit longer before saying goodbye to Bianca and strolling around, drifting between rows and rows of headstones. We come across Aidan’s spot only a few rows away my sister’s.

**AIDAN SHARPE**   
**June 17, 1991 – May 23, 2014**

_The song has ended, but the melody lingers on_

“Em brings her guitar sometimes when she visits,” I say. “She said she can sit for hours and play and sing.”

“See?” Will swings our interlocked hands back and forth. “Cemeteries aren’t solely purposed to lay our loved ones to rest. They serve as a place of healing, too.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I know he’s right.

It may have taken a year. And I know that I will never really stop grieving for Bianca. But, as we drive away, Will’s hand continuing to hold mine across the console, I’m showered in a new, inexperienced feeling.

Peace.

I finally know what it feels like to be at peace.


	18. Will: Stand By You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An array of firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the comments and kudos! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. Don't let the summary fool you, there isn't really any smut in this chapter. That isn't what I wanted this story to be about :) enjoy!

“Yeah, you’re all I never knew I needed.  
And the heart, sometimes it’s unclear why it’s beating.  
And, love, if your wings are broken,  
We can brave through those emotions, too,  
‘Cause I’m gonna stand by you.”

Six weeks into my new semester they send us back to the hospital for a couple days of shadowing in both the oncology and imaging departments. Dr. Beck, the head of the neurologic oncology department, takes me on a brief tour of the facility before the day starts.

“Dr. Blofis has said nothing but positive things about you,” Dr. Beck informs me as he scans over his list of appointments. “I look forward to the fall when you’re here for more than just two days.”

I hope my face isn’t as red as it feels, heat burning my cheeks. “Thank you, sir,” I say. “I’m excited to be here as well.”

Okay, so the last part is a borderline fib. I know this is only a small section of my residency, not something I’m compelled to do for the rest of my life, but being part of this department makes me very tense. Mom suggested all throughout high school that I should look into oncology, despite my constant arguments with her that the idea of spending my days having to break the news to people that they had cancer was enough to make me sick. And I mean literally sick-I always got a cold after one of our heated discussions.

“You’ll spend today with me in the clinic,” Dr. Beck interrupts my thoughts, smiling sincerely, “And tomorrow Dr. Rodriguez will take you through a series of brain scans.” He puts his large hand on my shoulder.

“I know you’re nervous, Will. Most people who come here are. But I can assure you, you don’t have to be. There are positive parts of my job; not everyone I see gets bad news.”

I nod. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Hardly anyone does. It’s difficult. Besides, I’m not going to put any pressure on you. If you don’t feel comfortable engaging with patients, you won’t be obligated to. Some patients may not want to interact with you, either, and that’s okay. Don’t get offended by it. Today, all I would like for you to do is sit, observe, and take notes. Ask all the questions you want. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good,” I say honestly. “Thank you, Dr. Beck.”

Dr. Beck waves his hand. “Please, call me Charlie.”

_Charlie. Okay._

The first half of the morning goes pretty smoothly. Nostalgia of my first day in the psych unit seeps in as the appointments go by, where I mostly sit in my aforementioned corner and take notes. One little girl who is in remission from Stage I medulloblastoma becomes instantaneously fascinated with my hair as soon as she comes into the room, so I let her sit on my lap and play with it while Dr. Beck-Charlie-discusses her progress with her mom.

Everything seems okay, tolerable.

Until, well, it isn’t.

“Will, I’d like you to take a look at this CT scan on our next patient with me before we bring him in, please.”

“Sure.” I grab my chair and drag it closer to the desk; Charlie double-clicks on the file that’s titled SAMSON, AMOS – 08/02/17.

“Amos Samson,” he says, thick sadness coating his voice. “I saw him for the first time mid-January. His sister brought him in to the emergency room after he had a seizure during one of his hockey games. He’d been complaining of headaches on and off for about a month before that.”

I already don’t like where this is going.

“Since then, he’s had three more seizures, he frequently loses his balance, and he has trouble speaking.” Charlie flips through a series of images. “What do you think? Don’t be afraid to say whatever’s on your mind.”

I scan the pictures myself, taking my time to make sure I look at the details in each one. There’s a large white blob sitting near the front of brain, a stark contrast compared to the rest of the grey matter.

“It looks like it could be an oligodendroglioma,” I say. “The mass appears to be involving the cortex. I can see calcification and cystic changes in it, too.”

The expression on Charlie’s face is a perfect mixture of pride and pain. “It is an oligodendroglioma. Stage III. There’s also a significant present of necrosis and microvascular proliferation.”

“So, that makes it an anaplastic oligodendroglioma.”

Charlie nods slowly.

It feels as if someone yanked the anchoring rug from underneath my feet. There’s a vulgar whooshing in my ears.

“How old is he?”

“He just turned twenty-one.”

_He’s the same age as Nico._

_Oh gods, don’t think about that._

Charlie disappears to the waiting room, returning with a tall, skinny blond man and a girl who I can only assume is Amos’s sister. She introduces herself as Avery. They sit side-by-side in the two empty chairs across from us; all of a sudden, the room feels very claustrophobic.

Charlie starts talking, bringing up the images again while trying his best to explain Amos’s diagnosis in layman terms. I quickly zone out, unable to remove my gaze from the siblings.

Upon first glance, you would guess they’re twins: same shocks of white-blond hair, his cut short and spiked, hers a trendy curled bob; same chocolate brown eyes and high cheekbones. They’re holding hands, nimble fingers entangled as if their lives depend on it.

Based on prognosis, maybe they do.

I look down briefly at my notes, trying to pay attention to the sound of Charlie’s voice. When I bring my eyes up again, I’m met by two new faces.

The boy is pale. His hair is a mess, full of cowlicks and un-cooperating tufts like he just rolled out of bed. He’s got about three days’ worth of careless stubble on his chin and jawline. His hazel eyes are hooded from exhaustion, lackluster and bloodshot. It’s the exact same look Em gets when she has a headache.

Something tells me he has a headache, too. He’s had a headache for a long time. And it’s not going away.

The girl is biting hard on her lower lip. Her auburn curls are pulled off her face in a high, bouncy ponytail. Her vibrant green eyes are wandering, desperate to look anywhere except her brother or Charlie. Her left leg has commenced a steady, overpowering shake.

_Holy. Shit._

This is Aidan and Em.

I scrub my eyes with my fist. For a moment, Amos and Avery return, but the second I blink, Aidan and Em take their place.

Aidan has Em’s hand in his lap, his long, skinny, pianist-perfect fingers massaging the spaces between hers. Unlike her, his eyes are glued to Dr. Beck, wide and unblinking.

“I’m sorry to inform you…Stage IV glioblastoma.”

I blink again. “Sir? I thought you said it was stage III anaplastic oligodendroglioma.”

Charlie frowns, his kind eyes clouding. “I did say that, Will.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I must have misheard.”

Aidan releases Em’s hand, letting his own hands fall to his sides, dangling. His eyes continue to remain fixed on Charlie, now glassy with threatening tears.

Em claps both of her hands over her mouth. Her tears, not bothering to withstand behind her eyelids, leak down her face, tracing lines on her cheeks.

“I TOLD you it WASN’T nothing!” she shrieks, looking ready to pound her brother into the ground. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god…”

I shake my head. Avery is crying. Amos stares up at the ceiling.

Dr. Beck resumes his composed manner, explaining “inoperable options” such as chemotherapy and radiation, because primary glioblastoma is very aggressive. And surgery is not an option, because the tumor has already sprouted numerous fingers; it would be too dangerous to try to remove.

“How long?”

Charlie sighs. “A year, Mr. Sharpe. Maybe two, if you are lucky.”

He wasn’t lucky. He didn’t even get a year.

You would think the worst part of this scenario is seeing Em with her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as she slowly falls apart. It’s not.

The worst part is watching Aidan’s reaction to his deadline.

He wraps his arms around Em, pulling her close to his chest. Each and every bit of emotion on his face crumples into a meltdown composed of thick tears and heartbroken sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry…”

I’m jumping to my feet, earning bewildered stares from Charlie, Amos, and Avery. “Will,” Charlie says, “Are you alright?”

I rub my hand across the sweat on the back of my neck. “Would you excuse me for a second?”

Without waiting for a definitive answer, I barrel out of the room and whip around the first corner I see, praying there’s a bathroom down its adjacent hallway. I slam my shoulder into the men’s room door and collapse at the nearest sink, running the water as cold as I can handle to vigorously splash on my face.

Icy droplets drip off the ends of my hair onto my cheeks. I fumble around in the pocket of my lab coat for my phone, nearly dropping it in the sink as I dial Nico’s number.

“Hi, sunshine,” he answers cheerily. “How’s your first day in the new department?”

“Nico, Nico, I can’t do this, I can’t be here. Nico, I _saw them_ , I’m shadowing _his oncologist_ …”

“Will…”

“…He brought in a patient who’s got oligodendroglioma and he’s _your age_ …”

“Will…”

“…But then it wasn’t him, it was _him_ and it was _her_ and oh my gods…”

“Will!”

I stop, my voice caught like a ragged breath in my throat. Nico chuckles softly.

“Slow down, _il mio amore_. Take a deep breath. I can’t understand you when you talk that fast.”

I close my eyes and inhale as deep as I can. “Sorry. My mom says I get the nervous babbling from my dad.”

“It’s okay. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

I replay what I saw in the examination room. When I finish, Nico’s quiet.

“Will,” he starts, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but is this some kind of psychiatric hallucination? Does this happen to all psychiatrists?”

“I don’t know,” I answer. “What am I supposed to do? I won’t last the rest of the day if every patient we see reminds me of that.”

He exhales. “I’m sorry, babe. I wish I could hug you right now. Maybe talk to Charlie? Ask if this has ever happened to him before, he might be able to give you some good suggestions on how to prevent it from happening again.”

Leave it to Nico to make the solution to my problem seem eminent.

“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it. “The clinic closes at five, so I’ll be over earlier than usual tonight.”

“Okay. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you, too, sunshine.”

* * *

The remainder of my day becomes much easier thanks to a lunchtime conversation with Charlie, who assures me that all psychiatrists go through their own phases of remorse, especially if they’ve had personal experiences in either the psychiatric department or the oncology department. I’m one of those unlucky few who has familiarities with both.

Nico’s waiting for me at the top of the stairs when I walk through the front door. He’s tied an apron across his waist and his hair is pulled off his face with a small elastic.

“Welcome home, honey,” he says sensually, shimmying his hips.

I can’t get to him fast enough. I take the stairs two at a time, throwing my arms around his neck and giving him a passionate kiss on the lips. “Well, hello to you, too. I wish I could come home to this every night.”

He smirks. “Come in. I put a change of clothes out for you on my bed. Dinner should be ready in about half an hour.”

“You made me dinner?”

“Of course I did,” Nico says in his duh tone. “You had a rough day, it’s the least I can do for you. There’s also a massage available for later, should you wish to take it.”

_Oh gods, yes please._

I give him another kiss, this one gentler, chaste. “I love you so much.”

“I love you. Now go get changed. Relax.”

I run upstairs and pull on the jeans and hoodie Nico laid out for me, eager to return downstairs to snoop on what he’s cooking. It smells delicious, like bacon and garlic.

“So, what delicacy are you treating me with this evening?” I ask him, sauntering into the kitchen, snaking my arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck.

Nico shivers, leaning against me. “Carbonara. My own recipe.”

“How did you know I love carbonara?”

“Just a guess.”

I help him with a simple tossed salad and garlic bread before we settle on the couch to watch a little TV until the sauce “reaches its peak” by chef Nico’s standards. (I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having fantasies about him in a tall chef’s hat and nothing else.)

“You are being SUCH an asshole right now!”

We both jump; the front door bangs noisily.

“I’M being an asshole? You think I’M being an asshole?!”

“What else did you think I meant when I said YOU ARE being an ASSHOLE right now!”

Nico curls into a tight ball on the couch, motioning for me to do the same as he puts his finger to his lips.

“What do you want me to do, Em?” Jax snarls, storming up the stairs behind her and tossing his backpack in our general direction. “It’s my job!”

“What I want,” Em seethes, “Is for you to actually SHOW UP when you agree to meet me somewhere!”

“Roy wouldn’t let me leave!”

“We’ve had this tasting planned for a MONTH! That’s not an excuse!”

Jax huffs, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. “We’re in the middle of a breakthrough, Em. I have to put in the extra hours or everything could fall apart. Don’t you understand that?”

“Oh, I understand.” Em’s hands curls into tight fists. “I understand that your career is more important than me. Like it always is. Why be with someone you love when you can be part of a medicinal breakthrough!”

“Okay, now YOU’RE the one who’s being an asshole.”

“I didn’t ask you to marry me!” Em screams.

“You didn’t have to say yes!” Jax yells back.

“Well, you didn’t have to ask!”

Nico’s fingers have latched onto my elbow, his grip tightening as the volumes of their voices creep higher and higher.

Jax’s retort is cut off by the blaring ring of his phone. If looks could kill, the one Em is giving him would have him already slumped on the floor.

“Go ahead,” she snaps, “Answer it.”

Jax squeezes his eyes shut. “Hello. Are you kidding me? I just left…No, I understand that, it’s just…Roy, is there any way we can do this tomorrow? No, sir, I don’t…Okay. Sure. I’ll be right there.” He hangs up; his jaw shifts.

“There’s been an unexpected change in the trial. I have to go back.”

Em’s arms fold across her chest. “Yeah, of course you do. You know what, since you’re already basically married to your job, maybe we shouldn’t get married after all.”

Jax’s eyebrow twitches. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he growls in agreement.

Pin. Drop. Silence. Nico’s bony fingers constrict my elbow like a snakebite.

Em takes a step away from Jax, kissing her teeth. “Here then.” She pulls her ring off her finger, lobbing it uncaringly to the crowded surface of the dining room table. “You can take that back. If I were you, I wouldn’t bother coming home tonight. And if you do, I hope you enjoy the couch. Because that’s where you’ll be sleeping.” She storms past him, banging her shoulder as hard as she can into his arm. Their bedroom door slams, rattling the whole house, followed by a suspicious sounding crash.

I don’t think Nico or I are breathing. My hand has found a similar grip on his knee as his hand has on my elbow.

Jax’s phone blows up again. He barely says hello before the man on the other end is barking at him: “I need you here NOW, Barlow! This isn’t going to wait for you to get your shit together!”

“Yes, sir,” Jax answers robotically. “Sorry, sir. I’m leaving right now.” He finally lifts his eyes enough to become aware of Nico’s and my presence on the couch. He presses his lips in a wobbly, thin line, picks up his backpack, pockets Em’s ring and disappears back down the stairs, out the door.

I’ve never seen him look so exhausted.

After a minute or two of suffocating silence, Nico loosens his hold on my arm. He untangles his legs from underneath him and clears his throat.

“Well, I can’t say I was expecting that.”

I uneasily scratch the side of my nose. “Do you have any idea what that was about?”

Nico clambers off the couch, beckoning me to follow him back into the kitchen. “I think they’re both _so_ tired. Em’s been picking up extra shifts and we’re lucky if Jax even makes it home in time for dinner. There’s been a lot of nights lately that he doesn’t come home at all. And on top of all that, they’re planning a wedding for September. That’s only seven months from now, which is like nothing in wedding time.”

“Do you think they actually meant it?”

“When they said they shouldn’t get married?” Nico flicks his wrist. “Of course not. They’re like Marshall and Lily from _How I Met Your Mother_ , they’re perfect for each other. They just need to blow off some excess steam and regroup.”

I can’t help the laugh escaping my lips. “It amazes me how technical that advice was.”

Nico laughs, too. “I’m not going to sugar coat it, Will. It is what it is. Now, come on. Dinner’s ready.”

 

Nico’s carbonara is even better than his grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are an amazing cook?” I ask, my stomach happily full.

A pale pink hue stains Nico’s cheeks. “I haven’t cooked enough for anyone to say such a thing. But, thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Thank you for making it for me.”

We do the dishes together, Nico washing and me drying. Then he takes me by the hand and pulls me up to his room.

“Earlier today, I gave you a proposition for a massage. Would you care to take it, Mr. Solace?”

“I think I would, Mr. di Angelo.”

Nico smirks, jutting his chin at his bed. “Well then, shirt off and lay on your stomach.”

I don’t hesitate for even a second, peeling my hoodie over my head and tossing it aside. Once I’m where he wants me, Nico crawls on top of me, straddling my lower back.

“Let me know if I’m pressing too hard or not hard enough,” he says, his fingertips whispering a pattern down my spine. “Has anyone told you that you have A LOT of freckles?”

I fake-frown. “I thought you liked my freckles.”

Nico’s thumbs begin to massage at the base of my skull. “No, Will, I don’t like your freckles. I love your freckles.”

I sigh contently, melting at the feeling of his fingers as they work down my back, paying extra attention to my neck, shoulder blades and my lower back. All the stress of my day and anticipation of tomorrow evaporates into a puddle of bliss.

“Nico?”

“Yes, _amore_?”

“I’m a pretty lucky guy, you know that?”

Nico shifts his weight on top of me. “Oh yeah? Why do you think that?”

“Because.” I carefully roll over, allowing myself to bask in his handsomeness. “I have an amazing, sweet, gorgeous boyfriend who is practically a gourmet chef and gives the best massages and somehow always knows the right thing to say, including the times I’m inexplicably distraught and am convinced nothing is going to help me. And that makes me the luckiest guy in the world.”

Nico’s whole face shoots from pale white to blushing red in a matter of seconds. He lowers his chest on top of mine, bracing himself up on his elbows. “I never thought I would say this, but you make those cheesy, cliché lines actually sound romantic. I hope you realize that takes talent, lots of it.”

“I think I get it,” I murmur, reaching up to pull him closer to me so I can kiss him. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling it loose from its elastic so it tumbles past his chin in soft waves. His hands trace my chest, fingers cool against my skin.

“Will,” Nico whispers, pulling himself away from my lips to leave me desperate and wanting, “I just thought of something.”

I brush his hair away from his neck, placing a trail of kisses from his collarbone to his earlobe. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Stay with me tonight.”

My fingers freeze, cupped around Nico’s shoulder. We hadn’t spent a night together yet; both of us agreed we didn’t want things to move too fast, and the idea of sharing a bed with him, no matter how innocent our night was meant to be, still coursed nerves through my veins.

“Oh, Will, not for that reason.” His hands take the sides of my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I want to. Believe me, I want to, but I want us to move at a pace we’re both comfortable with. I told myself a long time ago I was never going to be a pressuring boyfriend. I want you to stay so we can fall asleep whispering to each other and wake up wrapped in each other’s arms.” He sighs. “I don’t want you to go.”

I smile up at him, the bundle of angst in my stomach relaxing. “Are you sure you want me to? I’m going to have to get up early in the morning.”

“That doesn’t matter to me. I’ll get up with you so we can have coffee together before you go to work.”

How could I say no to that?

“Sure, baby,” I say. “I’ll stay.”

The grin spreading across Nico’s face is beyond beautiful. “I love you,” he muses. “Laugh at me if you see fit, but I’m going to ask Em if it’s okay.”

A giggle slips past my lips before I have the chance to stop it. Nico narrows his eyes playfully.

“It’s still her house!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

He skips out the door, leaving it open enough for me to hear him knock at her bedroom door.

“Em? Is it okay if Will stays over tonight?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure. I don’t care.”

“Thanks. Have you had something to eat yet?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should still eat something.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“Okay…there’s leftovers in the fridge downstairs.”

“’Kay.”

“Should I even ask if you’re okay?”

“Just close the door, Nico. Please.”

He does as he’s requested, reverting back to me and shutting his own door. “It’s cool with her.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

After another bout of feverish kisses and needy, passionate touches, we finally untangle ourselves from each other’s limbs to lumber to the bathroom and brush our teeth. Em’s bedroom door remains in its state of unwelcomed barricade; we hear no signs of Jax’s return home.

“Do you think you’d ever make me sleep on the couch?” I ask Nico once we’re curled back in bed, both of us only wearing boxers. My arms are wrapped around him, his head resting contently on my chest.

Nico hums, thinking. “Maybe,” he decides. “If you deserve it.”

“Do you think we should be worried?”

“Nah. A separated night on the couch is just the kick in the ass they both need. Everything will be fine.”

I’ve heard lots of people say those words throughout my life, but they’ve never meant more to me than when Nico says them. It doesn’t take me long to fall asleep, my fingers combing through Nico’s hair, his scrawling cute messages on my bare chest.

_Ur beautiful_

_Il mio amore_

_I love you_

Believe me when I say the best feeling in the world is being able to fall asleep and wake up next to your favourite person. Even when you have to wake up at 6 A.M.


	19. Nico: All In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make-ups and sister visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm actually so sorry for taking forever to update. I should give you guys some grand explanation but the truth is I don't have one, I've actually been really busy at work and haven't had the time I want to really sit down and focus. I'm also starting to run out of ideas, and I didn't want this to turn into a fic that was pointlessly long. Anyway, I'm sorry, and I hope to be able to come up with some more things to add. If anyone has any suggestions or things they would like me to include, let me know! Thank you so much for reading.

“But you know it’s alright,  
I came to my senses.  
Letting go of my defenses,  
There’s no way I’m givin’ up this time.”

I can’t go back to sleep after Will leaves.

I make sure to haul myself up early enough to make pancakes while he’s in the shower-which proves more challenging than I thought, because Will is _so warm_ and his skin smells better than all of my favourite things mixed together and he’s even more handsome when he sleeps.

Yeah.

Apparently that’s possible.

Will fell asleep well before I did, his breathing eventually slowing to a rhythmic, even pattern. I crawled off his chest and laid next to him on my own pillow, letting myself take in every inch of his peaceful, sleeping face. He’s kind of comical when he sleeps: on his back, arms bent at all sorts of awkward angles. I would never tell him, but he snores, too. Not loud or anything, it’s more like a heavy, weighted exhale out his mouth.

It’s actually, and oddly, adorable.

I waited up until my eyelids couldn’t forcibly stay open anymore in the hope to hear Jax at least come home; I heard nothing, and the blankets were still folded up neatly on the sofa. Part of me hopes I slept through it, that he came home at a decent time, made up with Em and she let him sleep back in their bed. The other part of me, the unfortunate realist part, knows the truth: he hasn’t even come home yet.

His car isn’t parked out front.

_Gods._

“Are you _sure_ we shouldn’t be worried?” Will asks as he zips up his jacket.

I shake my head slowly. “I’ll let you know if we need to worry. But I can confidently tell you that everything’s going to be fine.”

I can’t go back to sleep because my bed smells like Will. And because my confidence is slowly slipping.

I remember how mad Ma used to get at my dad when he worked late. She pretended it didn’t bother her, but when we finished eating dinner-without him- she would clear his empty, unused plate with a tightly clenched jaw and twitching left eyebrow. She banged the cupboard doors and drawers shut. She muttered curse words in Italian under her breath, thinking neither my sister nor I could hear her.

We always heard her.

Bianca swore Dad was cheating on her. “Nobody has to work that much,” she would say, storming into my room late at night, waking me up and turning the big light on and crawling into bed beside me. “ _Nobody_.”

All I could do was listen to her rant, shrug my shoulders, and shake my head. I was five-I didn’t understand that stuff yet.

Looking back on it now, my dad probably was fucking around on my mom. Hazel is only two years younger than me.

_Why are you thinking about this? Do you seriously think Jax is fucking around on Em?_

No. Of course I don’t think that.

Do I?

There’s a noise at the front door, keys jingling, lock clicking. Shuffling, banging, groaning. More banging, and no sounds on the stairs. I’m cautious to look, to peer around the corner like I’m worried about getting caught. Worried about what I’ll find.

No.

No way.

Nobody who’s getting extra lay looks like that.

Jax’s backpack is strewn as far away from him as possible, crumpled up in a heap at the corner of the bottom of the stairs. It’s half-open, a large stack of papers threatening to burst out. His back is pressed flat against the closed door, legs flopped out like overcooked spaghetti. His socks don’t match. Half of his hair sticks straight out the side of his head, the other just about hanging in his eyes. There are at least three stains on the front of his button-down; he missed a button, so the collar is scruffy and crooked. His glasses are laying on the floor beside him, his hands spread out over his face, masking his exhaustion.

I’m not entirely sure, but based on the way his shoulders are trembling and the ragged huffs of his breaths, I think it’s safe to say Jax is crying. Like, actual breakdown crying.

I tiptoe down the stairs, careful to avoid the spot on the one stair that squeaks, and slowly pick up his bag. The whole large compartment is full of documents; I gently shuffle things around so it all fits and I don’t mix anything up. Then I crouch down in front of him, hesitatingly reaching out to brush my fingers on his kneecap.

“Jax.”

He jumps, startled, his head slamming back against the door. “Jesus!”

“I’m sorry,” I say, continuing with my calm manner, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright?”

The question is stupid even before I bring myself to ask it. Obviously he is not okay.

His pale, sickly face hangs long with overworked fatigue, as if any sort of discerning emotion has been sucked into a vortex and left enervation to remain and stretch out over every inch and crevasse like a plague. His tearstained cheeks are waxy. His eyes sink too far into his skull, fully bloodshot and bagged with bruises so dark they’re almost black. Even his lips are pale, dry and cracked like they’ve been nervously licked one too many times.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, lowering my voice to a near-whisper. “That was stupid. Of course you’re not alright.”

Jax doesn’t say anything; he squeezes his eyes shut, tears catching on his cheeks.

“Is it okay if I sit?”

He nods vehemently.

I sit beside him, leaving his weighted backpack on the stairs. Neither of us say a word-he keeps crying and I keep sitting, patient for him to open up or shut me out.

Finally, Jax wipes his face on his sleeve, taking several uneven breaths. His shaking hand comes over mine.

“Wh-What are you doing up already?”

My lips manage to curl up to a simple smile. “I…Will stayed over last night. I got up to make him breakfast before he went to work.”

Jax hums quietly, sniffling. “Oh.” And then, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Falling apart in front of you.”

I sigh. “Jax, you’re only human. You don’t have to have it together every minute of every day.”

“I haven’t had it together for weeks now.”

“I wouldn’t say weeks.”

Jax scoffs brokenly. “I would. Look at my feet. My socks don’t even match.”

“I guess you don’t want to know your shirt is misbuttoned, too,” I ask, hoping my light tone will pick him up a little. He smiles for perhaps half a second.

“Leave it to the assholes I work with to not even tell me my shirt is buttoned wrong.”

I tent my fingers, pressing my shoulder into his. “Forgive me for being naïve, but if you think you work with a bunch of assholes, why do you continue to work with a bunch of assholes?”

Jax’s exhale is heavy with emotion. “Have you ever wanted something for your entire life, but once you got it you wondered why you wanted it so bad in the first place?”

I lean back, thinking hard. “Probably, but please don’t ask me to go into specifics. Is that how you’ve been feeling?”

His head moves up and down in a brief nod. “I’ve wanted to be a biochemist since I was nine years old. As soon as I figured out where and how they researched diseases. I was convinced that if they could find cures for things plagues and epidemics, there had to be something to help people with MS-even if I had to find it myself.”

“That’s what you got your grant for, isn’t it? MS research?”

Jax nods again. “That grant was a huge deal. But ever since I got it, everyone treats me differently. Like all I am is the person who got a shit ton of money to fund his project. Like I’m some kind of research robot. And that’s exactly what they treat me like: a goddamn robot. Because robots don’t need to sleep or eat in order to function.”

“You’re not a robot,” I assure him. “This project is really important to you, right?”

“Of course,” Jax says, “But so is nourishment and REM sleep. So is my _wife_.”

“Technically, she’s your fiancée. Not your wife.”

He drops his shoulders and gives me a sharp, pointed look. “She’s going to be neither if I don’t get my shit together.”

“Hey,” I say. “Let’s not worry about that right now. One problem at a time. Tell me about your project. Maybe talking about your frustrations will help.”

“Could we maybe not talk about it on the cold foyer floor?”

“Sure.”

We haul ourselves up, leaving Jax’s bag disregarded at the bottom of the stairs. I make him sit on the couch. “Do you want me to get you a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, lord no,” he says, massaging his temples wearily. “I feel like my heart will explode if I have any more caffeine.”

“What about some tea, then?”

He stalls. “Yeah. Tea sounds good.”

I brew each of us a cup of the herbal stuff Em keeps in the drawer that tastes way better than it smells, bringing it back to him and taking my usual seat beside him.

“Okay, Brain Boy. Tell me about your project.”

The deep tiredness of Jax’s face softens some as he talks more and more. His desire to research a cure for MS came from the loss of his mother, who passed away from MS when he was seven. Getting a job at the CDC in New York serves as a stepping stone until he can work his way into a more specialized research facility.

“The grant has provided me with more than I could have asked for. But if working like this is what it’s going to cost me, I’m hardly sure it’s worth it.” He scrubs his eyes forcefully, taking a miniscule sip of lukewarm tea. “You probably think I’m being selfish.”

“Selfish is a long shot,” I say honestly. “I think you’re being realistic. How can people expect you to put in all your effort at work when they’re only allowing your body and mind to operate at thirty-percent?”

“Roy went home at midnight.” Jax’s voice has lowered to a defeated murmur. “He went home at midnight and I didn’t get home until twenty minutes ago.”

“Roy is your boss, right?”

“Yes.”

Jax’s hands are shaking so bad now he’s starting to spill splashes of his tea. I take it from him, force his hands to lay vibrating in his lap. “Fuck Roy. The guy’s a prick, hiding behind you because he knows the project will fall apart without you. Where’s your phone?”

He extracts it from the pocket of his pants; I take it from him and power it completely off.

“There. You’re not allowed to turn it back on until tomorrow morning.”

Jax frowns. “What if they need me?”

“So what if they need you? Let them be the ones who figure it out for once.”

“I sometimes wish he would go all _Dr. Connors_ on us and mutate into a giant lizard.”

I laugh, which feels beyond good in the solemn moment. “Well, all you would have to do is get the suit and lose the glasses-you already look like Garfield.”

Jax laughs, too; I can almost see the weight lifting from his sagging shoulders. “Th-Thank you, Nico. I think I needed that more than I realized.” The relaxation settling in his features freezes. “Now I just have to make up with Em…”

I nudge his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about that. She’ll come around.”

“You don’t know her like I do yet. She doesn’t get mad often, but when she does, it’s like World War III.”

“Don’t count yourself out yet,” I repeat.

“Oh. You’re home.”

Em’s voice is thick, coated, tired. Her curls are pulled over one shoulder like an auburn waterfall; she’s twisting the hem of her sleep shirt around her fidgeting fingers. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I just got home,” Jax says, “About half an hour ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know you were off today.”

“I traded shifts with Lee.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The rooms fills with a suffocating silence. They’re staring at each other, waiting, daring for the other person to make the next move.

Em’s face finally falls, her eyes wandering over Jax’s state of defeat. She takes a long, filling breath and opens her arms.

“C’mere.”

A relieved smile breaks his whole face. He stumbles off the couch and into her inviting embrace, wrapping his arms around as much of her body as he can, settling his face in her hair.

“God, Em, I am _so sorry_ , I can’t believe I _ever_ let my job come before you. That was _so stupid_ and I’m sorry and _I love you so much_ …”

“It’s okay,” Em soothes him, rubbing her hands up and down the expanse of his back. “It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. _I’m_ sorry for being so impatient with you.”

“I promise I’ll be there for the rest of the wedding plans, and I’ll make it up for the tasting that we missed and I…”

She shuts him up by kissing him. I make a mental note to remind myself to do that when I need Will to stop talking.

“You’ll still marry me, right?” he asks breathlessly.

Em nods vigorously. “Of course I will.”

Jax is crying again, but I think this time it’s a steady flow of happy tears. Em catches his chin in her hand and swipes at his tears. “You are so exhausted, my sweetheart.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “And I feel like an idiot because I can’t stop crying. Oh.” He sniffs, digging into his pocket, pulling out her ring. “Since you still want to marry me, you might want this back.”

Watching him slip the ring on her finger feels like a second proposal, almost better. There’s no epic stage lights or screaming crowd. There’s just messy hair and pajamas and mismatched socks. And it’s perfect.

“Come on,” Em says now, lacing her fingers through Jax’s. “We’re going to go upstairs and relax.”

Jax’s face droops. “Babe, I’m sorry, but I’m way too tired for sex.”

“I wasn’t talking about sex,” she says kindly. “We’re going to take a shower.”

“Okay, ew,” I jump in, not needing to be engrossed in details. “Just go, you don’t have to announce it.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “What part of I wasn’t talking about sex did you not get? Here’s a tip: if you ever want Will to relax, get him in the shower and wash his hair for him.”

I can’t help the wrinkle in my nose or the furrow in my brow; that doesn’t make any sense. “What?”

“Just trust me,” she insists, beginning to lead Jax up the stairs. “Come on, you.”

 

The shower runs for a long time.

I thought maybe they would come back downstairs and all of us would have breakfast together, but they don’t. The shower shuts off and then upstairs is quiet like there’s nobody up there.

I can’t find anything good on TV to watch, so I put away the clean dishes in the sink and tread my way back up the stairs to my own room. I have to pass theirs on the way; the door is left wide open.

Em and Jax are both sound asleep, tangled around each other like a knotted ball of yarn. Legs entwined and arms wrapped tight around torsos, Em’s face completely buried in Jax’s chest. I wonder how she breathes like that. His fingers are all curled in her hair, his mouth inches from the top of her head like the lingering whisper of a kiss he must have pressed there before he fell asleep.

Something sharp tightens in my chest, and I have to cover my mouth to refrain from gasping aloud. I didn’t think people like this existed outside of romantic comedies and romance novels. People who actually followed the definition of unconditional love, who took to heart the words “I will love you no matter what”. And, I mean, why shouldn’t they? Both of them practically belonged in a romance novel. Jax is all tattoos and muscles, nice eyes and great hair, easy smile and perfect teeth, talented and intelligent. Em is beautiful and sexy and kind beyond belief, selfless and smart and so full of love. They deserve each other.

I silently shut the door and return to my room, not feeling a need to shut my door behind me. It swings halfway shut and stops.

Will’s smell envelops me even before I crawl back under the covers. Seeing Em and Jax so connected like that makes me miss him more, wishing I could grab my phone and call him just to hear his voice and tell him I love him. Because I do. I love him so much.

I fall asleep again, too, and by the time any of us wake up, it’s already dark outside.

* * *

Hazel phones the day after Valentine’s Day (which Will and I both refused to celebrate, because it’s a cheesy, useless day full of red and white and pink crap that’s supposed to show someone how much you love them) and asks if it’s okay that she and Frank come to visit during reading break. I say of course-I haven’t them since Christmas before last (Christmas 2015), when Bianca and I travelled out to San Francisco to spend the holidays with them. They moved out there together after high school, when they decided to go to Bay University where Hazel could study archaeology and Frank could become a personal trainer and one day open his own studio. Jason and I have a secret bet going on about whether Frank or Percy is going to be the first one to propose. My money’s on Percy; Jason has Frank.

They offer to stay in a hotel, but I won’t have that. Em says she doesn’t care if they take my room as long as I don’t mind sleeping on the couch. She jokes about making room at the end of their bed for me to curl up on like some kind of lap dog; it makes me laugh, although I say no thanks. She’s happy because having Hazel here will provide her with a female companion to go dress shopping with.

I was asked to come, too. I haven’t decided if I will or not.

Nobody’s home when we get back from JFK airport; I show Hazel and Frank my room and give them a brief tour of the house. It feels sort of freeing to have them here alone, almost like the house is my own.

The thought of getting my own place has been running a constant loop through my mind the last few days. Every time I see Will, I have to swallow the urge to mention it to him, scared I’m going to cross boundaries and freak him out. To which I then think is stupid, because talking about getting a place of my own does not automatically include him living with me.

Not saying I haven’t thought about him living with me.

I have.

A lot.

It’s an awesome thought.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about Will meeting Hazel and Frank. More nervous than I was about meeting Will’s mom. I guess now because it’s my turn to be the one who says “here, this is my boyfriend, Will” that adds an extra layer of pressure.

“You don’t have to nervous, Nico,” Hazel says, her eyes fixed on the twelve-photo collage frame mounted on the wall across from the sofa. “You seem to have forgotten Frank and I went to high school with Will.”

I scratch the back of my neck, puzzled as to how she always manages to know exactly what I’m thinking. “Oh. Right. You did.”

“He was a senior when I was a freshman and Frank was a sophomore, but we do know him. We already know he’s a nice guy. We already approve.”

“As if I was looking for your approval,” I mutter, feeling the tips of my ears burn.

Hazel smirks playfully. “You were desperate for our approval.”

I’m confident I’ll never figure out how she learned to read minds.

I wonder if she does it to Frank, too.

“Just turn the temperature down, then.”

Hazel darts back to the couch when she hears Jax’s voice wafting from the foyer, scrambling to sit next to Frank and act like she wasn’t snooping around the living room. Not that he would care if she was.

“No, you’re right, it shouldn’t be doing that…” He appears from around the corner, phone cradled between his right ear and shoulder; his bag slips off his elbow as he acknowledges us with an enthusiastic wave. “Well, I can assure you there’s no need to have a panic right now.” He jiggles his left wrist, his watch sliding out from the buttoned cuff of his shirt. “Because I am the one who designed the experiment, and I mean it when I say it’s not something that needs to be worried about. Okay, if it doesn’t come down within the hour, just shut it completely off and we can deal with it in the morning. Sound good? Okay, awesome, thanks, Malcolm. See you tomorrow.” He hangs up and smiles, a genuine smile I realized I’d been missing. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him quickly because I don’t want his smile to disappear before Em comes home. “Jax, this is my sister Hazel and her boyfriend Frank. Hazel, Frank, this is Jax.”

They all swap hellos and nice-to-meet-yous, Hazel adding a hug and Frank a handshake. “Thank you so much for letting us stay here,” Hazel says.

Jax waves his hand dismissively. “Of course. Any family to Nico is family to us. Em and Will should be home shortly, are you guys hungry?”

Frank and Hazel exchange a nervous glance. I know they don’t want to intrude, but I also know that Frank is indeed hungry, because I heard his stomach growling the whole way home from the airport. “You can say yes,” I promise. “He actually wants you to say yes. It gives him a reason to cook.”

Everyone laughs, naturally and wholeheartedly and it makes my heart thump with happiness. “I think Em had planned to take everyone out for supper?” Jax’s statement is more like an inquiry. “I can’t remember, though. Let me go change my clothes, and hopefully they’ll be home by the time I come back.”

He returns in a pair of jeans and navy cable knit sweater that makes even me notice how his eyes pop; the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showcasing the forearm half of his tattoo sleeve. Hazel’s pretending not to notice, but I catch her eyeing him when he’s not looking. Even Frank sneaks a couple peaks.

I’ve decided I’m going to buy Will a cable knit sweater for his birthday.

Em and Will walk through the door moments later, laughing at something that must have happened at work today. After a second round of introductions and greetings, Em throws me a devious glance.

“We’re going to change clothes. And then we’re going out.”

“Where are we going?” I ask openly, thinking we’ll probably just go to Monroe’s. We always go there, and there is no Monroe’s in San Francisco.

Em grins. “We’re going to a karaoke bar.”


	20. Will: Just Say Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discovery for Will and about Will, as well as an unexpected surprise for Nico

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I decided to continue with this chapter instead of switching to Nico's point of view again. I didn't think what I had for Will was quite long enough, plus I managed to get a few new ideas. I'm so glad you are enjoying the story, it has been so much fun to write! P.S. the collaboration song is actually written by Hunter Hayes, but this is a story, so let's just use our imaginations and pretend Em wrote it.

“Just say yes,  
Just say there’s nothing holding you back,  
It’s not a test, nor a trick of the mind,  
Only love.”

I’m sandwiched between Em’s side and the passenger door of the Rubicon, Nico and Hazel and Frank jammed like sardines in the back. I find it odd that the vehicle can hold an array of musical instruments but can’t comfortable seat six people.

It probably doesn’t help that half of the six people are over six-feet tall.

Frank has changed a lot since I last saw him. He went through a huge growth spurt-he’s taller than me now-and packed on probably sixty pounds of pure muscle. Even his face is different, more structured and chiseled. But then he grins his usual Frank Zhang grin, and his old baby-face features creep back in, and I think maybe he hasn’t changed much at all.

Hazel’s still the Hazel I remember. Her curly cinnamon hair is longer, brushing just past her shoulders, complimenting her fourteen-karat gold eyes and smooth, dark complexion. She was always cute, but now she’s become seriously beautiful. She’s sitting in the middle, comfortable between her boyfriend and her brother, staring out the window and admiring the bright lights of downtown Manhattan.

“Did you say we were going to a karaoke bar?” she asks, keeping her eyes wide on the view. “How are we going to get in? Frank and I are still underage.”

“It’s not that kind of bar,” Em says, twisting around in her seat. “Minors are allowed in before ten, and bartenders keep tabs on them because they’re not allowed alcohol after midnight, as long as you’re over eighteen.” She shifts even more, jutting her chin at Nico. “It’s like The Devil’s Crown.”

“What’s The Devil’s Crown?”

“It’s another bar downtown,” Nico explains nonchalantly. “Actually, it’s more like a club. They have live music Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Em and Jax’s band has played there a few times.”

Frank leans forward, his weight pressing into the back of my seat. “It’s so cool that you guys have a band. What’s it like? I bet it’s awesome.”

Em and Jax laugh simultaneously. “It’s pretty cool,” she agrees, “But sometimes it’s a lot of work and a lot of disappointment. Not everyone can make it big.”

Frank relaxes back into his seat; I can tell he wants to ask more, but we’re pulling into the parking lot and he’s too busy gaping at the array of people crowded on the sidewalk.

“You guys live in San Francisco,” Nico says, shifting his gaze between Frank and Hazel. “Why are you staring at the crowds like that?”

“It’s different here,” Hazel defends, crawling out after Frank. “The people in San Francisco are so west coast, and here they’re so east coast. We’re not used to east coast. We’re more marijuana, they’re more cocaine.”

We all stop and stare at her, aghast. Who would have ever thought those kinds of words would come out of Hazel’s mouth? She grinds her heel into the concrete in frustration.

“What? I’m not totally clueless.”

Nobody dares argue with her; her golden eyes are burning fiercely as she flounces to the end of the line.

Nico looks at me and simply shrugs. “I guess we know not to mess with her.” His fingers lace through mine, pulling me in line behind Hazel. The bouncer quickly lets us all through, pausing at Em and Jax to congratulate them on their engagement.

“Is there any bar downtown that doesn’t know who you two are?” I ask teasingly as we find a booth big enough to sit all of us. Frank, Em, and Nico disappear to locate the bar and get us a drink; Jax shrugs, coupled with a light laugh.

“Not any music bar,” he humbles. “This bar is particularly special, though.”

One of my eyebrows quirks with curiosity. “Why’s that?”

A memorable smile lights up his whole face. “The first time I heard Em sing was on that stage right there. And our first kiss was in the corner by the back door.”

“Really?”

Jax nods. “Yup. It was the two best nights of myself-at-twenty’s life.”

His eyes are soft, staring across the room at the empty stage sporting two microphones held on stands and a large projector screen for lyrics. I can’t help following his gaze, remembering how I felt the first time I heard Em sing. I understand how it was so easy for him to fall in love with her.

“This was after…the incident, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says coolly, almost like he’s brushing it off his shoulder. “About a month after. I’d gone out with a few of my work buddies.”

Call me a sap, but I always liked hearing these kinds of stories. Especially if they have happy endings. Meet-cute stories with happy endings are the best. “And then what happened?”

“They were having sort of like an open mic night thing instead of basic karaoke, and she got up there and Aidan played piano for her and she had her guitar and they sang “Bohemian Rhapsody” together, and I was smitten. Totally. I can’t even describe it for you, Will. They brought the whole fucking roof down. Gave Freddie Mercury a damn good run for his money, let me tell you. My friends were mad because I spent the rest of the night talking to her.” He shakes his head. “I went up to her at the bar, and I was so nervous I literally stumbled and blurted out: _you can sing_.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I joke.

“That is honestly what I thought she was going to say to me. I felt like such an idiot. But, she laughed and said: thank you.”

I lean my elbows on the table. “And then what?”

“What else? I offered to buy her a drink.”

“And the rest is history?”

Jax chuckles. “Pretty much. We came back here for our first real date. I asked permission before I kissed her for the first time.”

“Are you telling the first kiss story again?”

Everyone’s returned from the bar, holding drinks. Nico hands me a beer, as Em does Jax; Frank is holding two martini glasses.

“Yes,” Jax says, unfazed. “How did you know?”

Em pulls on her own beer, a fancy grapefruit kind. “Because you always tell that story when we come here, even if it’s with people who’ve heard it five times.”

“Don’t hate that we’re adorable. Besides, Will asked.”

“I did ask,” I defend. “I enjoy meet-cute stories with happy endings.”

She rolls her eyes and takes another drink, twisting her fingers through Jax’s. Her engagement ring catches in the dim light and reflects a shine of sparkles on the tabletop. “You’re going to sing tonight, right?”

Heat instantly flushes my face. “Uhm, no? I hadn’t planned on singing. So, no, not happening.”

“Oh, come on,” Em says, “It’ll be fun. I’m sure everyone else wants to hear you sing, too.”

I ignore Frank and Hazel’s chimes of agreement. “How do you know I can even sing?”

“The bathroom is right next to our room, and you always leave the door open a crack. I hear you sing in the shower.”

Shit.

“I’m still not singing,” I say with a firm shake of my head. “I don’t have the guts to sing in public in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“That’s the best time to sing in public! No one knows who you are, so it doesn’t matter if you shit the bed.” She leans forward and tugs encouragingly on my elbow. “C’mon, Will. I’ll sing with you if you want. They have that Ed Sheeran song you like, the catchy one from his new album.”

“If I’m not singing alone, I’m definitely not singing with you.”

Em frowns. “Why not?”

I scoff. “Because you’re Em Sharpe, and you have a five-octave vocal range?”

Frank’s dark eyes widen. “Are you serious? Five?”

Em nods. “I can stretch it to six if I don’t mind having laryngitis the next day.”

“Stretch it up or down?”

“Both. Half an octave each way.”

“Thanks for confirming my point,” I say jokingly. I open my mouth to continue, but the feeling of Nico’s hand on my knee stops me.

“I think you should sing, babe,” he tells me, so quietly I don’t think anyone else hears. “Sing with Em. It’ll be fun.”

I don’t want to allow myself a look at him. I know the look he’s giving me, I can feel it. And I am powerless when it comes to that look.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll sing.”

She squeals excitedly, downing her beer in one shot. “Yay! I’ll go put our names on the list.”

I watch her sashay away from the table, her slim hips swishing from side to side in time to the music overhead. I can feel a groan creeping its way past my teeth; Nico’s hand slides from my knee to a sensitive spot just barely below my hip.

“Don’t look so sour, hun. Once you get up there, you’ll love it.”

It’s sitting on the very tip of my tongue to point out that he would never feel comfortable doing something like this, but he’s looking at me with that look again, one I’m confident he practices in the mirror to succeed in turning my knees to jelly and my tongue into a tangled knot. As soon as our names are called, I let him push me up off my chair and follow Em onto the brightly lit stage.

The crowd is going nuts before the song even starts, a reaction I choose to chalk up to everyone basically knowing Em and how awesome she is already. To my surprise, she pays them no attention. Her green eyes are intense, set on nothing but me.

“Just relax,” she says. “Remember to breathe.”

Breathe. Yeah. Okay.

The second the song starts, it hits me hard that “Castle on the Hill” is not a pre-set duet; my fingers constrict around the microphone in my clammy hands. How the hell are we going to split this up?!

Em’s shaking her head at me. Her lips move silently.

_Relax._

She begins, and she sounds so melodic, a near-perfect female Ed Sheeran. I can’t feel my legs.

Right before the chorus, somehow, I find the courage to steal a look at the buzzing crowd spread out wide in front of me. My eyes instantly zero in to our table, to Nico. He’s grinning, smile the widest I’ve ever seen it, holding out an encouraging thumbs up.

I blink. Every last bit of nervousness feels like it’s oozing from my fingertips. I meet Em’s eyes and take a filling breath.

“ _I’m on my way,_  
_Driving at ninety down those country lanes,_  
_Singin’ to Tiny Dancer and I,_  
_Miss the way you make me feel,_  
_And it’s real, and,_  
_We watch the sunset,_  
_Over the castle on the hill._ ”

I almost can’t hear the song anymore, everyone is cheering so loudly. Em’s head drops back in electrifying laughter and she cheers, too.

Man, I have never felt so _alive_.

It doesn’t matter that the song isn’t a duet. With just a simple look, we figure out who’s taking which line, which verse, which ones we harmonize together. She grabs my hand and we launch into this choreographed dance like we’ve been practicing for weeks. When we share the last few notes, a pang of disappointment hits me in the gut.

I don’t want the song to be over.

The thrilling rush in my ears is so thunderous that for a brief minute I can’t make out a thing. I can feel the heat of the stage lights above me, and Em’s arm around my torso. My eyes are urgent, scanning everywhere until I find him. Nico.

“You are the best,” I say right into the mic, proud and strong. I can almost see his blush from all the way up here. “I love you so much. I fucking love you.”

If anybody were to ask, I couldn’t describe the kiss I gave him when we got back to the table.

“Damn, Solace!” Jax whistles once everyone has calmed down and there’s a new couple duet-ing onstage, “You’ve got _pipes_!”

“I guess I got them from my mom,” I say, humbled. “I never took singing lessons or anything.”

Em smirks. “Some of us are just born with it. Hey, we should collaborate on something.”

I nearly choke on my bite of loaded nacho. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t kid about that stuff. You can really sing, Will. I haven’t heard somebody be able to harmonize with me like that since my brother.”

“Hey!” Jax huffs, mock hurt. Then he laughs. “I’m totally joking. I’d take it if I were you, Will. Harmonizing with her is not easy. It took us a long time to figure it out.”

“Really? But you guys sound perfect together.”

“That’s because we practice. There’s a huge difference between practiced talent and natural talent.”

Now I’m the one furiously blushing. “I…I’ll think about it.”

But as I look at Nico, I know the minute he tells me I should do it, I will. I would do anything for him.

Because when you love someone as much as I love him, you would do anything for them.

*   *   *

 

“Why is this so difficult? I can diagnose brain cancer, but I can’t figure out how to harmonize this.”

“Because you’re thinking about it too hard.” Em drums a pattern on her knees. “That’s the catch with natural talent: you can’t think about it too much or it falls apart. My brother used to say that to his students all the time.”

“I’m a psychiatrist, Em,” I argue. “How can you even ask me to not think about this?”

“Like this.” She shifts herself to the edge of the stool she’s sitting on and reaches for my hands. “Will, do not think about this. All you have to do is sing.”

“I can’t just sing!”

“Have you even tried?”

I sigh loudly. “I honestly thought I was trying.”

Em shakes her head with a knowing kind of smile playing soft on her lips. “You have to try without physically trying.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Yes, is does. Here.” She releases my hands and turns me around so my back is towards her. “Let’s try this. I want you to close your eyes.” I do. “Okay, sing. I’ll jump in when I think the timing’s right.”

I will never tell her I think she’s crazy for believing this’ll actually work. However, I enjoy considering myself a permanent optimist, so I inhale slowly and start my verse.

 

_“So your confidence is quiet,_  
_To them quiet looks like weakness._  
_But you don't have to fight it,_  
_'Cause you're strong enough to win without a war._  
_Every heart has a rhythm,_  
_Let yours beat out so loudly,_  
_That everyone can hear it,_  
_Yeah, I promise you don't need to hide it anymore._  
_Oh, and never be afraid of doing something different,_  
_Dare to be something more.”_

The song is called “Invisible”. Em wrote it shortly after she came home from her time in the psych unit to remind herself of the difference between her past and her present. The first time I heard it, she played it solo on the piano for me, and I was very near tears. I guess Jax did cry the first time she played it for him.

Em joins me for the chorus and following bridge. As we belt the final few lines, I suddenly understand her concept of trying without physically trying.

It feels, and sounds, amazing.

Our harmonic conclusion is met by thunderous clapping; we both jolt at the unexpected presence of Nico, who stands pressed against the basement door’s frame and is grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Two of my favourite people,” he says, his tone edging the brink of sarcasm. “I could listen to that all day.”

A hot blush pops up at the nape of my neck and vastly spreads to my ears and entire face. Em’s green eyes are rolling.

“That song comes from the complete opposite of your genre taste, Nico,” she says.

He snorts. “Ha. Coming from you, Queen of Darkness.”

She opens her mouth to retort, interrupted thanks to the impulsive pounding at the front door. “Okay, Prince of Darkness. I’m going to see who feels the need to rudely pound on my door.”

As soon as Em disappears up the stairs, Nico jumps in front of me, pointing his index finger at my nose.

“Don’t even think about it, Solace?”

“Think about what?” I ask, feigning innocence. His nose crinkles adorably.

“Calling me Prince of Darkness.”

My hand flattens against my chest, pressed with drama. “Me? I am deeply offended you would accuse me of such things!”

Nico says nothing. He sidles up next to me and perches himself on my lap. “Now I’m the one who’s offended.” His lips touch the side of my head, near my temple, and then my cheek. “I really do love hearing you sing.”

I slip my arms around his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Perhaps I shall serenade you one day,” I joke, only half, as I have had many fantasies on such topic. Candles, rose petals, an acoustic guitar, no clothes…

“Nico!” Em shouts from above us, “Can you come upstairs please? … Right now!”

Nico leaps off my lap, confusion furrowing the space between his dark eyebrows. “Coming!” he yells back.

We take the stairs two at a time, him yanking me along behind him. Em is standing in the living room, awkwardly shifting her weight from side to side, while a strange woman sits tense on the couch, her hands clasped tightly in her skirt-clad lap. Her jet-black hair is tied back in a crisp bun and her eyes–just as dark, if not darker–are cold and unwelcoming.

“Nico,” Em starts. Her fists are clenching and unclenching at her sides. “Uhm…”

“Nico,” the woman says, her voice matching the expression brewing in her eyes. “ _Mio figlio_.”

If hearts had the anatomical capability of falling out of people’s butts, mine would have. Nico’s hand slips from mine so fast it leaves behind a dull sting. A strangled noise escapes the back of his throat before he can clearly speak.

“ _Madre._ Mother.”


	21. Nico: Hey Look Ma, I Made It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Before you read this chapter, if you haven't already, I added more content to the previous chapter that you will need to read in order for this chapter to make sense. Enjoy :)

“Are you ready for the sequel?  
Are you ready for latest?  
In the garden of evil, I’m gonna be the greatest.  
In a golden cathedral, I’ll be prayin’ for the faithless.  
And if you lose, boo-hoo.”

Everything is rushing at me in a too-fast flash. I can feel tension creeping up each vertebra in my spine, rushing to reach the base of my skull and stay there, tight as a vice. My mouth manages to be dry and moist at the same time and it’s making me want to choke.

How the _fuck_ did she find me.

Em looks timid, almost ashamed, the kind of expression I would expect from someone who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t. Will’s face is so twisted I can _feel_ his confusion. I want to reach for his hand, but my fingers have different ideas, squeezing into the palms of my hands.

There are so many things I want to say to her, seeing her stand in front of me, for the first time in nearly eight months, looking like there’s a lemon between her teeth the way her forehead puckers and her lips squelch. Words flood my mouth, coating my tongue in thick, disgusting film, and they won’t come out. They will sit there and antagonize me until I either puke or cry.

This is the one and only scenario in which I will select to cry.

Em shifts her weight from foot to foot; her lips part as if she’s ready to say something. Ma abruptly cuts her off.

“Nico,” she says, tone unnaturally short, “Come. Let’s go.”

“Go?” I manage. “Go where?”

“Home. I’ve come to bring you home.”

Wow.

I suddenly lose control. I start laughing. I start laughing and I can’t stop. I laugh so much my ribs are aching and my mouth is dry and my jaw is tight. And I’m still laughing.

“Nico…” Will says carefully, setting his hand on my back. “What is happening…?”

I can’t even bring myself a breath long enough to properly speak. “She…wants me…to go…home…with…her. That is…just…so…fucking…funny!” The giggle outburst is slowing. I hiccup. Hiccup again.

“Wow. I almost lost it there. Sorry, guys. What were we talking about? Oh, yeah.” In what feels like a snap of my fingers, the humor in my bones is gone, replaced with white-hot anger.

“You’re expecting me to come home. With you.”

Ma’s jaw sets, solid and serious. “You are my son,” she points out. “You belong with me.”

“Oh, I belong with you? Do I? That’s not how you felt back in October.”

“Nico…”

“NO!” I’m shouting now, and I don’t care. “No! How dare you? How DARE you come here? I haven’t seen you in EIGHT MONTHS and you have the AUDACITY to find me and tell me you want me to come home? No. Screw that. I am home.”

Ma laughs. A laugh so opposite from the one I remember as a child. “Nico, stop being ridiculous. As if you could ever call this place, and these people, your home.”

“Hey,” Em interjects, rightfully hurt, “Mrs. di Angelo, I don’t think that’s very fair…”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, sweetheart.”

“Ma!” I step towards her faster than I intended. “You stop. You don’t get to speak to her that way. At minimum, you should be _thanking_ her.”

“ _Thanking_ her? For what? Kidnapping my son? Keeping him from me for months and months?”

Em’s heel comes down hard into the living room carpet. “That wasn’t my intention, and you know it…”

“ENOUGH!”

We all freeze instantly. Will steps in the middle of us, looking more like a doctor than I’ve ever seen him.

“Enough,” he says again, softer this time. He turns his back to me and Em, focusing directly on my mother. “Mrs. di Angelo, my name is Will Solace. I don’t know if you remember me.”

Ma’s face falls, so much so it almost makes me feel sorry for her. “You…You’re the…”

“Yes, I am,” Will says. “Clearly there are a lot of emotions going on right now. That is understandable. I think it would be a good idea for everyone to take a step back, and for us to go somewhere else and have a talk. How does that sound?”

I can’t help my scoff. “Will, I am not going anywhere with…”

“I wasn’t talking about you, Nico,” he interrupts. “I meant just me and your mother.”

For some reason, this only irritates me more. “Don’t start pulling that psychiatrist crap on me, Will! If you honestly think…”

“Nico.”

The edge in his voice and the flare in his eyes make it feel as though my lips have suddenly been glued shut. All of my arguments tumble back down my throat. I nod slowly.

“Okay. What do you think, ma’am?”

His addressing to her, _ma’am_ , makes my nose crinkle. Ma’am is something you say to respectable women. She may be my mother, but she threw respectable out the window a long damn time ago.

 

Will takes Ma into the kitchen, deserting me and Em with the decision of openly eavesdropping or courteously moving to a different room. There is a large part of me begging to stay in the hopeful event Will will chew her out for being a terrible parent; Em tugs at my elbow, and I know better.

We’re sitting in the basement, too far away to hear anything. Em has picked up one of her electric guitars and is silently plucking at strings and running her fingers up and down the neck. I can’t allow myself to sit, so I pace around her in wide, uneven circles.

“How is this happening right now?” I snap. I’m fed up with her silence. She looks up at me and smiles, small, sad.

“She is your mother, Nico.”

“You don’t have to point that out to me! I already know that!” My foot stomps like a mid-tantrum child. “She also left me to rot in a psychiatric hospital!”

“There are two sides to every story,” Em says.

“I don’t want to hear her side! She doesn’t deserve a side!”

This makes Em pause, her fingers frozen on a B minor chord. She doesn’t say a word; I continually plow through my monologue.

“I get that she was hurting. My sister died. I get it. I was hurting too; I’m still hurting! I will hurt for her for the rest of my life. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be enough for my mom. Shouldn’t she be happy that I’m alive? I tried to end my life, for fuck’s sake. And then I get better, and she’s all _nah, I don’t want you to come home. I can’t handle a suicidal kid_. What the fuck! I’m her son! What happened to unconditional love? Did she even come visit me in the hospital?”

Em remains mute. Her fingers have moved, back to aimlessly plucking.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” I growl. “Fuck, Jason visited me every. Single. Day. My own mother can’t be bothered to see me once. And then she thinks she can just show up here and order me home? Ha! That’s hilarious. You’re more of a mom than she is.”

“I’m not your mom, Nico,” Em says quietly.

“You might as well be! You’re way better at it than she is. You’re the one who gave me a bed to sleep in and food to eat and a roof over my messed up head. You offered to take me in without even hesitating.”

“That may be true,” she agrees, “But that does not make me your mother.”

My hands find my hair and pull at the root hard enough for me to feel pain. “Why does it feel like you’re taking her side?”

Em shakes her head sympathetically. “Nico, I am not taking her side.”

“You’re not taking my side, either!”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m trying to get you to understand the opposing side. If I was talking to your mother, I would be doing the same thing. I’m sure Will is doing the same thing.”

A lengthy, strenuous sigh ripples past my lips, sagging my shoulders, heaving my chest. “Everything was going so well,” I murmur, looking down at my socks. They don’t match. “Now she’s here, and everything’s messed up again.”

Em sets her guitar back in its stand and comes to stand beside me. Her arms slip around my shoulders.  
“Things don’t have to be messed up, Nico. You’re the one with the choice on how this is going to play out. I’m not going to tell you what to do. All I’m going to say is it really sucks not having a mom.”

“You do have a mom,” I tell her. “You just don’t talk to her.”

“Exactly.”

Oh. _Oh._

Damn it.

“You planned that out, didn’t you?”

Em shrugs helplessly. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.”

“Hey!” Will’s strong voice hollers from the above level, “You guys can come back upstairs now.”

I pick an imaginary piece of lint off my jeans. “You know, Em, I kind of like you.”

She smiles. “That’s good. I kind of like you, too. Now, come on. Go have a conversation with your mom.”

* * *

Sitting across the table from my mother proves almost as awkward as individual therapy with Dr. Blofis.

Neither of us have the guts to speak up; Ma chews at the skin around her thumbnail and I’m fascinated by the nonexistent pattern on the kitchen ceiling. I can sit here all night if she wants. I refuse to break first.

“So,” Ma finally says following an eternity of silent tension, “Will seems like a very nice young man.”

I nod curtly. “Yep. He is.”

“How long have you guys been…together?”

My eyes are rolling like marbles. “Can you not say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like the thought of us being _together_ gives you a stomachache.”

Ma folds her hands atop the kitchen table. “You know that is not true, Nico. I’ve supported you since day one.”

_That’s right. She has._

Shut up.

I force myself to frown. “I don’t want to talk about Will.”

“Well, what would you like to talk about then?”

I’m so close to the edge, the edge to tell her I don’t want to talk about anything and to get out of my house (ignoring the fact it’s not my house to kick her out of). I could push her off the edge, watch her fall into oblivion and forget about her.

_It really sucks not having a mom._

God, Em, stay out of my head.

“I want you to explain yourself,” I decide. “Attempt to give me reasons for your unforgivable behavior.”

Ma’s smile only lifts the right corner of her mouth. “You are so young,” she sighs. “And already so full of anger. I had always hoped wouldn’t take after that side of your father.”

“I wasn’t always angry,” I snarl.

“You weren’t always happy, either.”

“Nobody’s _always_ happy.”

Ma exhales, exasperated. “I miss her too, Nico. You are not the only one dealing with this.”

The palm of my hand smacks down on the table. “No. Do not try to make this a fricking shared space. You have _no idea_ what I went through. You weren’t the one with her. You weren’t the one driving. YOU got to say goodbye to her! I got nothing! Nothing! Except over fifty self-produced scars and two months in a mental unit! And you didn’t even come visit me!”

“I never got to say goodbye to her.”

Her statement causes me to stop, shocked. A wave of regret douses me from head to toe.

“What?”

Ma’s eyes are shiny and wide. “They had already taken her to the morgue by the time I got to the hospital. Ordinary folk aren’t permitted to be in the morgue. I didn’t get a goodbye, either. They barely let me into the unit to see you. Don’t you remember that?”

_He is my son! My son! Do you hear me?! You cannot keep him from me! I must go in!_

My voice is stuck in my throat. Ma clears hers.

“Nico. I need you to try to understand the place I was in. I scolded myself for so long after the accident for working late that day. And for not being home when you…I mean…my baby, my baby boy, was in so much pain he thought choosing to be gone forever was the only way to get past it. You were in so much pain and I…I didn’t know.”

I open my mouth to interrupt her, words waiting on my tongue to overflow like a waterfall; Ma holds up her hand.

“Let me finish. Looking back on how events transpired, I’m not sure I could have handled seeing Bianca. It would have left me with a tragic, traumatic memory of her rather than the beautiful memories I cherish. When I found out what happened to you, it broke me, Nico. I had been on the verge of losing both my children in the span of a year. The reason I didn’t come visit you is because I wanted to hold onto the good memories we’ve shared; I couldn’t bear the idea of those memories becoming tainted.

“The more time passed, the more I slipped into my downward spiral. I knew they wouldn’t keep you in the psychiatric unit forever, and I had absolutely no idea how I was going to look after you when I couldn’t even look after myself. I didn’t want to bring you into a toxic environment. So, please, believe me when I say it’s not that I didn’t want you to be home with me. I wanted that more than anything. I was simply trying to abide by my duty as your mother to do what was best for you. My child.”

My cheeks are wet, absorbing the stream of tears trickling down them. “And what about after?” I manage. “What about when you got better?”

“I was a coward,” Ma admits, starting to cry herself. “I predicted your reaction once you found out I wouldn’t let you come home, and I figured you would be angry, betrayed. I thought of the chance of you hating me.”

Hearing her actually say it aloud sends a chilling shiver down my spine. As furious as I was at my mother, the thought of hating her never really floated through my mind. I didn’t hate her. I couldn’t hate her.

“I don’t hate you,” I mumble. “I’m still infuriated with you, I probably will be for a while, and I can’t promise I’ll ever fully forgive you. But I don’t hate you.”

Ma’s hands fall back to her lap, landing with a soft thud. “I understand. I apologize for storming over and causing such a scene. Once I learned where you were staying, I just…” She sighs. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to bring you home.”

I shake my head at her. “I am not coming home with you, Ma. I told you, I am home.”

“I can see that now. Again, I am sorry. I do hope you will let me be part of your life, no matter how small a part it is. I really miss you, _mio figlio_.”

“I’m making no promises, _madre_. I need some time to process all of this.”  
Ma hums in hesitated agreement. “Of course. Take all the time you need. Please try to remember that I do love you, Nico. Very much.”

My lips press into a thin, wavering line, but my head is nodding. “I know, Ma.”

“You are welcome at the house anytime. I am sure you want to come pack some of your things? You can’t have much here.”

“Maybe.”

“Okay.” She rises to her high-heeled feet and brushes herself off. “I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

I don’t get up to meet her. “Yeah, I guess.”

Her face sets for a second, harsh and disappointed, returning to gentle sooner than it disappeared. She removes her purse from the end table in the living room; the front door closes behind her, leaving hardly a trace.

I don’t know how long I sit by myself until I feel Will’s arms around me. His knees pop as he crouches down, letting me fall apart against his chest. I cry so hard sound leaves my ears. Em is beside me too, running her fingers through my hair. Her breath is warm against my cheekbone; she’s talking to me, soothing me, but I can’t hear her.

She abandoned me to the confinement of a psychiatric ward.

She never came to visit me.

She didn’t call to ask how I was, or where I was.

She wasn’t my mother.

But she _is_ my mother. She loves me.

And I know, somewhere deep down, I love her, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I hope no one is upset by this chapter! Nico's mother is not mentioned much in the series, and I know she probably would not have the kind of personality showcased in the beginning of this chapter, but as you can tell her behaviour does change! I most likely will be including another chapter/scene with her in it, so you'll get to understand and experience her character a bit more


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